Addendum
by varietyofwords
Summary: Linstead plus Voight, Mouse and Will. A series of oneshots expanding upon and exploring the events of each episode in season three. "He needs the week, at least, to decide. To get Erin back to place where she's healthy and he can trust her; to make sure this gamble with the unity of his unit is worth it."
1. Waking Up Today (3x01)

**Author's Note:** I don't know about everyone else, but I've felt like S3 has been...bumpy. Fantastic episodes are followed by not so great ones that seem to lose focus on the characters. So I thought I'd try to smooth the transitions from episode to episode with a series of oneshots set before, during, or after each episode. First up: a follow-up to 3x01 exploring Hank's transition to acceptance of Halstead and Lindsay in 3x02.

* * *

My past has tasted bitter for years now, so I wield an iron fist.

Grace is just weakness, or so I've been told.

I've been cold; I've been merciless.

But the blood on my hands scares me to death.

Maybe I'm waking up today.

– "I'll Be Good" by Jaymes Young

The creaking of the floorboards causes his eyes to flutter open, and his hand instinctively reaches for the top drawer of his nightstand. His unfocused gaze sweeps across the expanse of his bedroom over the blinking red lights of his alarm clock to the photographs placed on the dresser – the captured expressions invisible in the darkness – and, finally, to the partially opened door of his bedroom.

The nightlight he installed all those years ago back when Camille was toilet training Justin so the kid could find his way to the bathroom in the middle of the night flickers casting a long, skinny shadow onto the wall of the hallway. He squints at it as he pulls the gun from his nightstand drawer. Curls his hand around the cool metal and places his finger on the safety as the floorboards creak again. The sound becomes a long groan as he slides off the bed and onto his own feet, as he straightens his posture and takes one step towards the bedroom door.

And then the sound morphs into the pattering of feet against the floorboards and the slam of the bathroom door followed by a retching heave that reverberates through the paper thin walls of this old house. The sound sobers of him, and he slips the gun back into the drawer. Careful not to bump the safety; careful not to look at the family portrait – the smiling wife, the carefree little boy clutching his mother's hand because it was still cool to be a mama's boy, and the sullen teenager with her arms crossed across her chest whose eyes hold a hint of sparkle because no one would let her sit in the periphery.

That picture was taken two weeks before Erin's sixteenth birthday, five months before Bunny would show up, and ten months before he'd bring her home and she'd detox on the floor of the hallway bathroom. Camille pressing cold compresses to her forehead and holding back her hair as she retched; him on the phone with O trying to figure out where Charlie was and then clutching Erin's clammy, limp hand as she mumbled a desperate apology.

Her apology earlier today – or, yesterday judging by the clock on the nightstand – had been different than the one she gave him fourteen years ago. Still wrapped up in another relationship he wasn't all the keen on, still said with tears in her eyes, and still met with those same conditions – she lives with him, she takes drug tests, and she cuts off all ties with the cancerous people in her life.

Yet she wasn't apologizing for him, wasn't backing down on what this guy in her life means to her. Just acknowledged that she was sorry it got to this point before she realized what she had given up, that she was willing to follow all of his rules if it meant she could come back. Come back to the unit. Come back home.

Not that this house had even been closed to her. Never will be. A fact he hopes she knows as he pushes open the door to his bedroom further and steps out into the hallway. The floorboards creak again under his weight; the nightlight flickers as he crosses in front of it moving steadily towards the linen closet at the end of the hallway. He can hear the window of her bedroom rattling in the wind, and he glances over his shoulder to look at her room as he wrenches open the door of the linen closet.

The soft glow of the lamp on the nightstand illuminates the jumble of covers on the twin bed, the contents of the duffle bags overflowing onto the floor, and the faded posters tacked onto the wall that she never took down when she moved out. He'll grip at her later about the mess. Remind her that she's been here less than an hour and already managed to destroy her room. But the dry heaves and the choking sounds from the bathroom remind him that an unmade bed and dirty clothes on the floor aren't the priority right now, and he focuses on locating a couple of clean washcloths amongst the stacks of towels, extra sheets, and blankets for when the weather turns cold.

He gathers three or four of them in his hand ignoring the lingering smell of the fabric softener Camille used as he shuts the closet door, as he pads his way back down the hallway to the shut bathroom door. He skips jiggling the handle of the bathroom door because he figures it'll be locked. It's the one door in this house that she's allowed to lock. A line in the sand when it comes to him trusting her that Camille put into place when Erin came back at sixteen hooked on dope telling Hank that Erin's rap sheet meant she needed to know her body was hers and her alone. That for all her mistakes, she still deserves a modicum of privacy.

As she got older, as she gained their trust and pulled her life around, that rule expanded to include her bedroom followed by her apartment when she eventually moved out. It's why he waits out in the hallway and talks to her out there when she chooses not to invite him in. And while all that had been reset, while he can't trust her alone in her bedroom let alone her apartment, Hank sure as hell isn't gonna renege on the bathroom rule now that she's thirty, now that she slipped up and fell down the rabbit hole with Bunny again.

So he bangs on the door, calls out her name over the sound of the running water, and waits for the click of the lock being undone to let him know he can come in. And, even then, he's slow to open the door and pokes his head around the door rather than charging in like he normally does when he and his unit are storming the house of a known drug abuser.

"Headaches?" Hank asks in his gruff voice, and Erin slowly nods in response as she takes a seat on the bathroom floor. Her eyes are bloodshot from the strain of vomiting, and her skin is pale from the strain of detoxing. A sickly gray color that stands in stark contrast to the whiteness of her tub that she's pressed herself up against for support.

He's been through this with her enough times to know the drill: the nausea-inducing headaches followed by the chills that will cause her to drench her sheets with sweat and the shakes that will make her yearn for a hit. Thought maybe they'd skip those reactions this time around given how even and steady she was yesterday, given that determined glint in her eyes when they went toe-to-toe with one another. Thought maybe he wouldn't have to do this without Camille to hold Erin when she cries, to come down to the basement when Erin finally passes out and silently hug him because she knows what watching Erin detox is doing to him.

Yet here they are. Hank and his girl, as Camille would call her. And so he drops the handful of washcloths into the basin of the sink, flips on the faucet, and watches the colors darken as the fabric becomes damp. Squeezes out the excess water and then moves across the tiny bathroom to crouch beside her.

"Here, kiddo," he says placing the damp washcloth against the heated skin of her forehead. He wants to shake her and scream at her for putting them both back into this position, but tough love didn't work this time and she's leaning into his touch as tears spring back to her eyes over the term of endearment he's still using. "It's gonna be okay, Erin."

If she believes his promise, she doesn't have time to say so as she pushes him aside and lunges for the toilet. As she heaves up the last bits of the BARF diet – bread, applesauce, rice, fluids – that he managed to get her to eat last night before the adrenaline wore off and she crashed. He steps over her bended legs, moves behind her to fetch other damp washcloth out of the basin, and then hands it to her when she sits back on bended knees to wipe off her face. Hank reaches out to squeeze her shoulder as she runs the damp cloth over her lips, and frowns when he feels her body shaking and shivering with a chill under her black sweatshirt with the touch of his hand.

"It was just pills," Erin tells him as though she can read his mind, and Hank grunts in reply because he hates the flippant way she says the word 'just'. Like the singularity of what she was taking makes it okay. As though he didn't see the abandoned razor blades on her coffee table last night when they swung by her place to pick up her clothes.

"And alcohol," she confesses after a moment filling in the silent question that trailed his grunt. He had figured that one out after he arrived at her apartment terrified those Jackson Park pricks had gotten to her and spied the nearly empty bottle of vodka spilling across her couch. "I swear, Hank, I didn't—"

The buzz of her cellphone against the tiled floor sends her scrambling; the words pouring forth from her mouth swallowed up and forgotten as she clicks a button and silences the ringing. And the suspicion etched into his face deepens as she slips the phone into the front pocket of her sweatshirt, as he wonders if the caller was Bunny or that Landon guy the team found at her apartment or whoever Bunny's got dealing to her these days.

"You gonna answer that?" He asks because her phone has started buzzing again, because the sound is still audible despite the muffling provided by her sweatshirt.

Erin's eyes sweep unfocused around the room refusing to meet his, refusing to look at him as she mulls over her answer. Just like they did when she was sixteen and didn't want him to know that she was sneaking out to meet Charlie and Annie. Just like they did when she was nineteen and aimlessly passing her days as she decided what she wanted to do with her life. Just like they did three weeks ago before she wrenched off her badge and slide it across the counter towards him.

"It's Bunny," she softly confesses, and he can feel his features hardening at the name as Erin finally looks at him. He holds her gaze for a moment, slides his tongue against his teeth as he decides what to say because she knows his rules, knows she needs to ruthlessly carve that cancerous growth out of her life if she ever wants to move forward. Move forward with her badge and her career; move forward into the kind of life he and Camille always wanted for her where she was happy and healthy, where she had a life beyond the badge with people she loved and selflessly loved in return.

And he thought she was finally getting to that point when she didn't fall asunder back when Charlie showed up, when she asked for help and then helped Nadia in turn because she knew who loved her and who deserved her forgiveness. But then Nadia died and—

The blaring of his alarm startles them both; Erin jumping under the hand still curled around her shoulder and his grip tightening to help steady them both. He's never been one for the radio as a wake-up call, and the monotonous beep cuts through the thin walls at a much louder decibel than her vomiting did earlier this morning.

"Get dressed," he tells her releasing his grip on her shoulder and taking the damp washcloth from her hand. "You're coming with me to the district."

"Hank," she starts gesticulating with her eyes towards the toilet, towards the lingering effects of her three-week sabbatical. But her furlough ended yesterday – her vacation bank well past depletion – and he can't justify a medical leave without raising suspicions up in the Ivory Tower. Can only cover for her so much with Fisher before questions start getting asked by IAB and outsiders start poking around the unit.

"We got trash cans and toilets down at the district," Hank reminds her as he unceremoniously dumps the washcloth into the sink. "You can sit in the breakroom and sleep all day. I don't care. But you're not staying here alone."

She acquiesces with a nod of her head; too worn out from a sleepless night filled with a couple rounds of vomiting to sass back about how she doesn't need a babysitter. And she slowly moves to stand on her feet preparing to head into her bedroom to collect her clothes and grumbling under her breath when he tells her to clean up that mess in her bedroom before they go as she slips past him.

Hank takes a moment to tidy up the bathroom, to squeeze the water out of the used and unused washcloths and toss them into the laundry hamper next to the tub. To run the comb through his hair and splash some water on his face before Erin comes back and hogs the bathroom for the next half hour.

The blaring alarm finally shuts itself off as he steps out into the hallway, and Hank can hear Erin ransacking her suitcases over the sound of the floorboards creaking under the weight of his steps back into his bedroom.

He was supposed to fix those steps, get someone in to check the structural soundness a couple of years after they bought this house, but things got busy and then Justin and Erin had become teenagers and this old house had become like another parent. If the floorboards creaked at night, it's because Justin was trying to sneak out. If Erin's window wasn't rattling on a windy night, it's because she had popped it out of its frame and snuck out to meet Charlie or Bunny.

And, now, the floorboards creak when Erin heads into the bathroom and the pipes rattle when she turns on the shower. The normally silent house filling with noise while he gets dress changing out of his sweatpants and t-shirt and into a pair of jeans and a button-up. Hank retrieves his gun and his badge from his nightstand clipping them both to his side as Erin shuts off the water, and he pauses waiting to hear her retching again. Concentrates on making the bed when silence fills the house; frowns when that silence is interrupted by the persistent ringing of her cell phone.

The fourth to last step on the staircase creaks twice: once when he heads downstairs barking at her that she's got ten minutes to be ready and then again fifteen minutes later when she comes downstairs and then heads outside to where he's waiting in the Escalade. She's still wearing that sweatshirt despite the summer heat, but her badge is clipped to her waist and the shower has returned some color to her face.

A good sign, Hank thinks to himself as he watches her lock the front door behind her and step off the front porch. But his lips dip into a frown when he sees her pull out her cell phone as she walks up the sidewalk towards the car. When she frowns at the phone before slipping it back into the pocket of her sweatshirt; when she slips aviator sunglasses onto her face before climbing into the passenger seat diminishing his ability to read her.

The buzz of her cell phone in her pocket punctuates most of the drive to the district. Hank's gaze following Erin's every time she pulls the phone out of her pocket to check the caller ID; Hank's gaze hardening as the reach the fourth stoplight on this short drive and the phone buzzes again.

"Turn it off," he tells her gruffly as he waits for the light to change back to green, as an unfamiliar name – no doubt someone Erin spent the last three weeks partying with – flashes across the screen as Erin pulls the phone from her pocket again.

"I can't," she replies in her own gravelly voice as she slips the phone back into her pocket and goes back to staring out the window. He figures the constant start-stop of the drive has left her nauseous just as it did back when she was sixteen and he had raced her to Med – Olinsky in the driver's seat and him in the back trying to keep her awake – to get her stomach pumped and guesses from the way she keeps pressing her fingers to her forehead that the brightness of the morning sun has amplified her migraine.

"Erin, I told you that you have to cut Bun–"

"I haven't heard how Jay is," Erin interrupts, and he can feel the heat of her gaze through her sunglasses as she turns to look at him. As she adopts that same tone she used with him yesterday when she said it didn't matter if Halstead was her boyfriend, that they both know it should be her that goes in to get him. "I left messages on his cell and at Chicago Med for his brother, and I'm waiting for one of them to call me back, okay?"

Hank holds her gaze through a single iteration of the stoplight changing, through the car behind them honking in agitation that he hasn't driven through the intersection yet. An unreadable expression on his face that causes Erin to shift in her seat, to look back out the window as she mumbles something about Halstead being her partner. And he frowns when the guy behind them honks again, when he turns his attention back to the road and pulls out into the intersection. It takes him less than a second to hang a U-turn, to take a left towards Chicago Med rather than a right towards Firehouse 51 and the district.

"Whaa—" Erin starts as she clutches the handle of the door, and her bewilderment is interrupted as she presses her arm to her stomach and tries not to vomit over the quick maneuver Hank just made with the car. It doesn't take her long to catch on, to reorient herself because she knows these streets almost as well as he does. And her voice dips low as they turn into the parking lot of Chicago Med reaching an almost pleading tone as she says his name.

The emotion in her eyes may be obscured by her sunglasses, but the emotion behind those four letters remind him exactly why he didn't want her and Halstead gettin' mixed up in the first place. He's seen partners struggle to adapt after one of them gets hurt in the line of duty and struggle to deal with the guilt that comes when your partner gets hurt and you escape unscathed. Introduce sex? Introduce feelings? Throws the whole symbiosis of the unit off. Destroys partnerships and careers.

And yet had come back for him. Not for herself. Not for Hank. For Halstead. And maybe she had decided to stick around because of Hank and because of her own feelings about this job, but that's not what got her to walk up those steps and refuse to leave. To demand that Hank let her do this for Jay, let her be Halstead's backup. And that, to him, means she's also gotta be the one to do this, even if it means opening the door to something he wanted to firmly stay closed.

"Your partner gets hurt in the line of duty, you pick him from the hospital," Hank calmly reminds her watching the suspicious that they were here for her to get drug tested or detox be replaced by surprise as he pulls into one of the empty parking spaces near the front of the building. "You want me to go in, or–"

There's a flicker of hesitation across her face that he picks up on despite the sunglasses, despite the way she looks from the entrance to the hospital to the badge clipped to her waist as she avoids his gaze. And then she reaches for her seat belt unbuckling it and pushing open the passenger door in one fell swoop as she reminds him that Halstead is her partner and she's got this in a firm, resolute tone.

And Hank watches her cross the parking lot – a barely perceivable shake to every step courtesy of the 'just pills' leaving her system – and disappear through the sliding front doors as a sigh falls from his lips. He runs a hand down his face and tries not to think about the decision he's gonna have to make – to pardon them or not, to pretend there isn't gonna be ramifications for this no matter which way it goes – as he reaches for the cell phone unceremoniously dropped into the cup holder when he got into the Escalade this morning to call Olinsky and tell him that he's got Halstead's ride home covered.

The tap against the glass of the driver's side window interrupts his movements, and Hank glances over his shoulder to see Olinsky standing next to car. He slides one finger against the power button of the window rolling it down so Olinsky can lean through the open window of the car and ask him what's going on.

"Saw Lindsay going in," Al says without emotion or judgement in his voice as his gaze flicks from the entrance to Chicago Med to Voight. "She here to pick up Halstead?"

"He's her partner," Hank replies gruffly as he drops the cell phone back into the empty cup holder and glances up to look at Olinsky. The man doesn't say anything, doesn't shrug his shoulders or comment on how he was supposed to pick up Jay this morning cause Antonio stayed with him last night and Halstead's brother was scheduled to work today. But Hank's known him long enough to read the silence, to know that Olinsky wants to know what he's gonna do about Halstead and Lindsay. About the fact that he gave Burgess and Ruzek a pardon after Burgess was hurt in the line of duty.

"She's got enough going on right now," Hank grunts, and Al hums noncommittally in response allowing a long, steady silence to fill the space before adding that Antonio told him this morning that Halstead would be on medical leave for at least a week. And then he gestures with a nod of his head towards the front entrance, towards where Halstead is very stiffly lifting himself from the wheelchair with Erin and the nurse's assistance. Leaning against Erin as the nurse pulls the wheelchair away, as he takes a slow step towards the parking lot.

He's too far away to hear what's being said, but his eyes are still sharp and Hank doesn't fail to see the way the purple and yellow bruises on Halstead's face are folded into a grin. To see how Erin's hand presses against her partner's back to steady him as she bites her lip and fails to suppress her smile; to see her try to stand up a little straighter and be the support Halstead needs right now.

"Your unit, your rules," Olinsky concedes tapping against the car as he steps away from the door so Hank can either step out himself or pull the car up closer to the entrance. And Hank waits with a hard glare on his face for Al to continue with a 'but' yet none comes because it's Al and they both already know what Olinsky would say if he was more loquacious. What Camille would say. That Erin came back for Halstead, that Erin getting healthy again means her having people who love her without an agenda, and that, whether he likes it or not, the window in her bedroom is gonna be rattling with the ping of pebbles being lobbed against it at three a.m.

Hank sighs as he shifts the Escalade into drive, as he tells Olinsky that he's still driving Halstead home before pulling out of the parking spot and navigating over to where Erin and Halstead stand together. He needs the week, at least, to decide. To get Erin back to place where she's healthy and he can trust her; to let Halstead get back to one hundred percent before Erin puts him through the ringer like all the guys before him. To make sure this gamble with the unity of his unit is worth it.

And, yet, he also knows that this decision was made for him yesterday when Jay was kidnapped and Erin showed up, when she stepped out of that room with blood on her hands from trying to protect him, when she showed up in his office and told him that Halstead – not him, not a case – reminded her of why she loves this job. Knows he conceded already by bringing her over here, and knows that Camille, if she was here helping him get Erin through the detox process, would tell him that the job is never gonna make her smile like she does around Halstead.


	2. Just Like That (3x02)

**Author's Note:** Thank you all for your support and kind reviews. They mean so very much to me. This fic (if the title didn't give it away) is set the morning on 3x02.

* * *

Jiaxin and Ortiz – the patrolmen who responded to the call at Keyes' house along with Roman and Burgess – both clasps him on the back and say they're glad to have him back at work as he ambles up the steps of the district. The patrolmen coming onto shift hurry past him to the patrol cars parked out front while those coming off shift stand around the entrance to the district making sure their paperwork is in order before the sergeant on duty can start getting on their case. And yet nearly all stop long enough to nod their heads in silent acknowledgement of his return as he moves past them, as he makes his way up to the desk in the center of the district.

"Detective," Sergeant Platt greets in a flat, monotonous voice continuing to shuffle through the paperwork stacked in front of her without looking up at him. "You got a doctor's note for me?"

With a nod, Halstead drops the paperwork in his hand – the medical clearance forms signed by his primary care physician, the leave authorization form signed by the doctor who treat him in the emergency room at Chicago Med, and the paperwork signed by Voight that the district's union rep dropped off at his apartment a few days ago – onto the long, wooden desk. The corners furl inward; the papers trying to curl right back in the long cylinder he had twisted them into this morning as he crammed them into the cup holder of his car.

Platt shoots him a sharp look as she unfurls the papers, as she sifts through them and makes sure everything is in order. Her eyes skim over the signatures – Voight's, his, a doctor with the surname Manning over at Chicago Med – but lock in on the final signature, on the lopping 'H' and the unreadable characters that follow in the messy scrawl.

"This your brother's signature?" Platt asks pointing to the line where his primary care physician signed off. Her tone leaves little room for nonsense and because he's more eager to get upstairs than to earn a laugh, Halstead quickly shakes his head side-to-side pointing out the name printed below the signature – Jon Holtzman, M.D.

The accusatory look in Platt's eyes softens as she moves the paperwork upright and taps it against the desk so everything lines up, and she nods her head in dismissal before reaching for the small canister of paperclips she keeps on top of the desk. With a rap of his fist against the desk, Jay turns away heading towards the short set of stairs leading to the palm scanner and the entrance to the Intelligence Unit's bullpen upstairs.

His feet have barely touched the wooden steps when he hears Platt calling his name and he groans under his breath afraid she's found a flaw with his paperwork, afraid she's gonna send him home like Voight did when he tried to show up for work last week. His sergeant had taken one look at the black and yellow rimming his eye, at the laceration to his temple that was still healing and decided that Halstead needed a couple more days to recuperate. Told him that Will's estimate of a week off meant nothing to him and sent him home before the rest of the team – Ruzek and Atwater, Olinsky and Antonio, Erin – arrived for shift that Wednesday morning and he could call on any of them to back him up.

"It's good to have you back, Halstead," Platt calls out, and the soft tone of her voice causes the patrolmen milling about to look up from their paperwork and watch Jay offer her a sort of bewildered smile in reply. And then the detective turns on his heels and jogs up the steps to the palm reader; his smile deepening as he chuckles when he hears Platt snap at the patrolmen for acting as though she's never been glad to see any of them before.

The palm reader unlocks the cage door with a beep, and he is, thankfully, pain free as he wrenches it open. As he jogs up the wooden stairs intent on showing off just how ready he is to be back. And his grin is completely unforced as he reaches the top of the stairs, as the members of his unit rise to their feet at the sound of the heavy door slamming behind him and move to greet him with wide smiles of their own.

Atwater and Ruzek are by his side first clasping him on the shoulder and saying how glad they are to see him. And Halstead's eyes skim around the room to find Olinsky leaning against the filing cabinet to the right of his desk, to see the older man nod his head at Halstead in silent greeting. Al had been the one to drive him home from the hospital per Voight's command and picked up some groceries and his meds for him when he had been too messed up that first day home to drive himself. The one who took one look at him with his bandaged wounds, bag of bloodstained clothes clutched in his right hand, and eyes drifting towards the side mirror as they turned out of the hospital parking lot and told him that Lindsay had gotten her badge back.

Not just like that, though.

She had filled him in with a few, sporadic texts over his first three days home with the conditions of her so-called parole, and then gone quiet when it had finally come out over that short conversation that Voight was piss testing her at random. The silence had been maddening and frustrating, and he had checked his phone more often than he'd care to admit to Will or himself.

And then the night before he was first scheduled to return to the unit, her name flashed across the screen of his iPhone along with a picture of the two of them standing side by side with his arm around her shoulders. One of the few tangible memories of when they had been seeing each other replaced with a less tangible one when he answered the phone, when she asked him if he was watching this late night documentary on multiple personality disorder. Because somehow in the few weeks they had been doing whatever they had been doing, she had adopted his late night pastime coming out of the bedroom of whatever apartment they were at to sit beside him. Either falling asleep against him or kissing him into distraction when she grew tired or bored of him psychoanalyzing their friends and coworkers.

She hadn't kissed him that night, which would have been a difficult feat given she was across town at Voight's and that Halstead didn't know where she or he or they stood. But she had stayed on the phone with him until the end of the documentary, until the credits rolled and she murmured about looking forward to seeing him tomorrow over the gruff sounds of Voight in the background asking what she was doing up this late.

Part of him had wondered if Voight sent him home the first time he showed up for work because he had found out it was him talking to Erin late at night and was still set on keeping them apart. Part of him had been too sore and still too bruised over the ordeal with Keyes to protest too hard.

And, clearly, things are exactly back to being normal just like that given how Erin hangs back from the group. Jay spots her rooted in the doorway of the break room and lets his gaze linger on her for a moment as Antonio disappears around the corner with the promise that he's got a welcome back for Jay. She offers him a smile and then breaks the gaze as she goes back to running her finger around the rim of her coffee cup, as Antonio appears hobbling with the aid of a walker.

"Oh, real original, guys," Jay says with a laugh as Atwater and Ruzek step aside to give Antonio a wide berth. The walker is clearly a regift; he pulled the same stunt when Dawson returned to work after getting shot by Pulpo almost two years ago. But the gift helps him slip easily back into the comradery of the unit, particularly when he picks up on Olinsky muttering about how they needed their resident smartass back to come up with more original jokes.

"Drinks at Molly's tonight?" Ruzek questions before throwing a look over his shoulder in Al's direction with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Al's buying."

"He'll even spring for the merlot instead of the chardonnay," Dawson quips as he folds the walker back up and takes a couple of steps towards the hallway leading from the bullpen to the interrogation rooms. Antonio's disappearance around the corner coincides with the slam of the heavy, metal door leading from the entrance of the district to Intelligence, and the whole unit shifts from watching him walk away to watching Voight amble up the stairs with a nondescript, white coffee cup in hand and a stack of papers held together by a paperclip tucked under his arm.

"Good to have you back, Halstead," Voight gruffly announces when he reaches the top of the stairs and pauses to survey the room. The clasp of Voight's hand to the shoulder farthest from his sergeant startles him – Jay's not sure he'll ever get used to Voight being affectionate with him – and his surprise escalates as he Hank pulls him in for a side hug, as his boss ruminates in a few, gruff words on how grateful this city is to him.

And Jay's gaze slides uncomfortably around the room from Ruzek and Olinsky, from Erin in the doorway of the break room to Mouse shifting from foot to foot by the whiteboard near Voight's desk. He tries to catch Mouse's eye to reassure his friend that he's okay, to let him know that what happened to him two weeks ago wasn't gonna send him back down that path where he needed Mouse to drag him home.

His good friend had been one of the few people to stop by while he was on medical leave, and it had been Mouse who kept him up to date on the unit's happenings – an investigation into the murder of a young woman on DePaul University's campus over in Lincoln Park, how Voight had farmed Mouse out for a day to work on some cyber-crime case Jay had been too drugged up to properly follow, a few tidbits about Erin's return that Mouse wasn't exactly subtle about dropping into the conversation. Mouse whose twitches and tremors returned as he tried to apologize to Jay for freezing up, for needing Voight to spoon him clues on how to track down Jay's location; Mouse who had struggled to make eye contact with him as Jay informed him that what happened wasn't his fault.

The unit's techie seems to be doing a bit better. The twitches have subsided again, and Halstead manages to catch his eye when Voight finally loosens his grip around Jay's neck. Watches him jump into action when Voight barks about needing to see Al and Mouse as he heads towards his office.

The order seems to disseminate the entire unit with Ruzek and Atwater returning to looking at whatever they were examining on Ruzek's computer when Halstead walked in and Dawson going back to his desk as Olinsky and Mouse follow Voight into his office. The whiteboard is empty – Mouse had told him the team closed the DePaul case late Friday night – and Voight didn't instruct any of the remaining team members to catch him up on the old case files before disappearing into his office so Halstead sort of stands around for a minute. Let's his gaze slide around the bullpen once more before he spies Erin standing at the coffee machine in the break room.

He immediately takes a few steps towards her crossing the bullpen in only a couple of strides yet detours at the last second to his desk because he doesn't want to push things. Definitely doesn't want to lapse back into silence with her – the late night phone call followed by the intervening texts had pushed things more towards the realm of normal – but he also doesn't want to draw attention to her and him and them when she's got enough on her plate right now. And so he concentrates on being professional – straightening up his desk, logging into his computer to check if any of CIs have popped up in the recent arrests and read a call out about a missing kid from Rogers Park, making sure Ruzek hasn't stolen his chair in his absence.

The guy is an opportunistic thief and, judging by the mug left on Jay's desk that his tepidly tips towards himself with one finger on the handle, an opportunistic garbage dumper, too. Halstead would hazard a guess that the mug used to hold coffee, but the massive amount of creamer and sugar Ruzek dumps in the industrial-strength coffee to make it palatable has hardened and solidified under a thick casing of mold.

He thinks about sliding this across Atwater's desk towards Adam, about telling the guy to clean up his mess cause his mom doesn't work here, but Jay can also see Erin still milling about the break room out of the corner of his eye and he pushes back his chair before he can rethink the decision. Before he lets the heat of Antonio's gaze and his subsequent chuckle as he returns to his paperwork stop him in his tracks.

"Hey," he greets softly as he steps into the break room. Erin's arms are folded across her chest; the empty mug dangling from her fingers as she waits for the coffee pot to finish brewing enough for another cup.

"Hey," she echoes back with a tight smile as he dumps the coffee mug into the sink and flips on the faucet. He can feel her watching him – he always knows when Erin's eyes are on him – but he keeps his head down and his attention focused on swirling the hot water and a generous squirt of soap around in Ruzek's nasty cup. Only stops and lifts his gaze up to look at her when he hears her say, "Welcome back."

"Same to you," Jay replies.

"Thanks," Erin replies after a long pause that caused the smile to slide from Jay's lips that caused him to shut off the water and turn his whole body towards her. "It's–it's good to be back."

"Yeah," Jay replies watching her reach for the coffee pot. The pot has partially filled in the intervening time, and he shifts uncomfortably against the counter with the knowledge that his window of opportunity is rapidly dwindling. A million questions are sitting on the tip of his tongue, but they're the kind of questions – the who's and the what's – that he needs to give her time to figure out that. Because she's here and she's healthy and while she still isn't really making eye contact with him, she's not hiding behind sunglasses or walking around without her badge on. And when he anticipates her needs, when he slides the sugar jar towards her before she can even reach for it, she smiles rather than scowls.

"Nice to have my partner back, too," Erin adds as she dumps more than a teaspoon of sugar into her mug. And Jay nods in agreement with her; his lips breaking out into a wide grin he couldn't suppress even if he tried to in the name of professionalism. And he can start to feel them slipping back into their usual rapport as she sets her mug down on the counter and reaches for another from the stack of clean ones beside the coffee, as she pours hot coffee followed by the exact amount of sugar he likes into the second mug.

"Thanks," he replies as he reaches for the mug, and both of them freeze when his fingers slide against the back of hers during the pass off. Wide eyes locked and smiles on their lips for a moment before her hand drops back to her side, before she grabs her own coffee mug and they each press their respective mugs to their lips to mask their smiles.

He leans against the countertop again focusing on her and leaving her with the double duty of talking to him and watching for someone to walk into the breakroom. But he needs this moment to see that sparkle in her eyes and the healthy pallor of skin exposed by a blue, sleeves top and the graze of her non-greasy, non-limp hair against her chin and the badge and gun clipped to her side. Need the time to reassure himself that her showing up for him wasn't a one-of or, worse, a dream.

"How you feelin'?" She eventually asks over the rim of her mug as she takes another sip of coffee, and his free hand instinctively goes to his side where Dr. Manning had put in five stitches. The wound had been short but deep; the source of most of the blood that had ended up splattered across his suit.

"Uh, good. Stitches are all out, and the doctors cleared me for full duty," he assures her when he notices her gaze lingering on the place he just touched. On the spot where she been careful not to touch or aggravate when she had tried to lift him to his feet back in Keyes' study. "Wanted to come back last week, but Voight–."

Erin's gaze shifts from his side to the floor to the entrance to the break room at the sound of Voight's name, and he glances over his shoulder afraid he's gonna find Voight standing in the doorway asking how the coffee is. But the bullpen is still pretty empty with Antonio working on paperwork alone at his desk and Ruzek and Atwater laughing about something out of sight.

"Well, you know," he adds as he drags his gaze from the bullpen back across the breakroom to Erin, and she nods her head in reply. Leaves him wondering how much he should follow-up on how she's dealing with Voight's conditions as she calmly sips on her coffee. And he has to lick his lips before he can say anything, before he bends down a little closer to her – close enough that her eyebrow lifts in surprise – and asks in a low, careful tone, "How are you feelin'?"

The question almost seems to startle her, and he watches a range of emotions flicker across her face. Something he tells himself is a good sign because at least she's feeling things again, at least she's stopped trying to bury it all and hide behind her anger from him.

"Uh," she says as she takes a moment to compose her answer. He can see all the possibilities in the eyes she isn't hiding from him today, and he takes that as a good sign because Lindsay's always been quick to lie but slow to tell and face the truth. "Voight's got me on a pretty tight leash, but, uh, the last couple of days have been pretty rock solid."

"I'm – I'm really happy to hear that, Erin," he informs her with a wide smile and an earnest tone that he can tell makes her slightly uncomfortable by the way she goes back to drinking her coffee, by the way she refuses to meet his gaze. And he backs away from her, tries to give her some more space. But not so much that he misses the smile hidden behind her coffee cup or the yawn that trails it.

"That window at Voight's place keeping you up?" Halstead asks softly when the first yawn is followed by a second, when Erin's lips part into a large 'o' and her eyes close and the coffee mug in her hand does nothing to hid the reaction. She had let that little detail about her years living with Voight slip late one night when they had been at his place curled up in his bed and he had asked if the street noise was keeping her awake as he trailed his fingers up and down her bare arm.

She had merely replied that the noise had nothing on what the window in her old bedroom made letting the way she snuggled into him and pressed her head into the pillow inform him that she found the noise somewhat of a comfort. And he had smiled against the bare skin of her shoulder because this tiny bit of her adolescent seemingly echoed how he didn't know how to sleep without the noise coming from the open window thanks to his childhood home in Canaryville being located near I-90.

"It's been sixteen years, and he still hasn't fixed that damn window," she scoffs, but he can tell by the inflection of her voice and the light in her eyes that she's joking about her anger. That she as well as he both know he's had far more important things to worry about the past sixteen years than a window that rattles in the wind. And there's a pause as they both take long gulps from their coffee mugs before she repeats that it's good being back. "Voight and the guys, they've let me jump right back–"

"Hey," Dawson interrupts from his spot in the doorway of the break room, and Jay immediately rolls against the counter so his back rather than his side is against it. So he can add a more professional distance between him and Erin. But Dawson seems unaffected or, at least, uninterested in their posture as he gestures towards the door leading to the back entrance of the district with a nod of his head. "Roman and Burgess found a body while they were chasing down a suspect. Little kid. Voight wants us to roll out."

"Just like that?" Jay questions after Dawson disappears from the doorway of the break room. He glances at Erin and watches her with eyes filled with mirth over the rim of his mug as he chugs the last bit of coffee still in his mug.

"Just like that," she confirms as she dumps her empty coffee mug into the sink next to Ruzek's science experiment. And then she sidesteps around him, leaves him watching her walk away until she reaches the doorway and whirls around with a grin on her face that causes her dimple to concave inward. "Voight's giving me back the keys to the 300 tomorrow so I'll be back to driving then and we can go back to riding together."

The smile that immediately appeared on his lips when she smiled at him, when he caught the sparkle in her eyes slides off his face as the words finally register. And he dumps his empty mug in the sink next to her, stalks towards her and the entrance to the bullpen with an exasperated look on his face and a tone of voice that matches as he points out that he's been on medical leave for two weeks and she's still not going let him drive.

"Just helping you get used to having a partner again," Erin replies with a laugh as she steps out of the break room and into the bullpen and he follows after her. His retort to that remains stuck to the tip of his tongue because he came back to work hoping that would be the case, hoping they would go back to partners again.

And maybe it won't happen just like that given that Erin's health is the priority right now, given the lingering question about whether or not what he went through was equivalent enough to Burgess' being shot for them to get a pardon, but getting his partner back? Being a better cop because she's got his back? That's good enough for now.


	3. Say Before You Falter (3x03)

**Author's Note:** This oneshot was entirely inspired by the far off, distant look on Jay's face when Mouse returned to drink beer with him after talking to Voight upstairs. It is also an attempt to explain why Erin would go to Molly's to meet with Dr. Charles. Thank you again for all the support with this fic!

* * *

The blue box bangs against her leg, and the six bottles held inside the box clank loudly as they rattle against one another. There is, thankfully, no one milling about the back entrance of the district so she's able to slip through the open garage door without pointed looks or poorly concealed questions of concern. The ones her whole unit had used this past Tuesday when they met up at Molly's to celebrate closing a particularly grueling case; the same ones that had slid off their faces when Hank walked over and handed her a beer before Herrmann was able to open up the one she ordered.

She appreciates their concern, appreciates how much they care for her, but she also needs to feel like she's a member of this unit again. Like she's moved past getting her job back by the skin of her teeth, as Doctor Charles had so eloquently put this morning, and is back to being a detective. Back to being someone who can talk to a victim, who can support someone through the worst moments of their life. Back to being someone that her partner can count on.

For now, though, she'll thank the person he was able to count on. Even if that was years before she met him and even if she still doesn't know what his brother was talking about. And so she lugs the box of Durstin Gold over to his lair placing it on the counter and forcing a smile when he startles at the sound.

"Hey, Mouse," she greets, and her eyes immediately sweep around the room. Computer monitors are stacked on top of one another to create a mini-whiteboard of sorts, but the jumble of wires and broken hard drives are no longer strung across the desk. Instead, things are neatly organized in bins and containers with clean, black and white labels affixed to the front documenting what each bin contains.

The organization plus the clean-cut haircut and the button-up shirt are all changes from the first time she met him back when Halstead pulled him up to work the computers for Intelligence. Back when he'd walk into rooms and then walk right back out when he realizes it's just the two of them. Back when he'd struggle to keep eye contact with her for longer than a couple of one-word answers.

"Lindsay," Mouse replies as he moves to his feet. His movements are steady and confident just like they were earlier today when he flipped the gun around on Fraser, when he took control of the situation before SWAT could step in.

And yet his fingers still twitch against his leg as he lets his arms hang loosely by his side. A sign Erin finds comfort in, oddly enough. Almost like Mouse for all his twitches and all his struggles was the one to help Jay so Erin for all her problems and all her partying can be the one to help him, too. Should, god forbid, the need arise.

"Hank says the gun wasn't loaded," Erin states as Mouse comes to stand across the counter from her, as he presses his twitching fingers against the counter and looks up at her.

"No," Mouse confirms with a gaze that, for once, never wavers. Never leaves her as he elaborates about how Fraser wasn't a killer but rather a man desperate to get his daughter back. "He just wanted her home."

"Yeah, home," Erin echos with a pause between each word. The comment Will made to her earlier today about Mouse being the one to bring Jay home still rings in her ears because she's a detective and she pokes the bear and she doesn't like unanswered questions. Doesn't like the way Will immediately clammed up when he realized she didn't know what he was talking about.

But everything with Bunny and Beckett, with Doctor Charles trying to get her to eat the elephant one bite at a time kept her from circling back to Will or going right to the source. Because Jay waited for her to be willing to share about her past, and she'll extend the same courtesy to him. Because they're just now getting back to being partners, to him making her laugh with his stupid jokes as they work a case together. And she doesn't want to screw that up, to let whatever it is that they are slip through her fingers again.

"Heard you talked down Sarah until her dad could arrive," Mouse adds after the lull in their conversation becomes too much and his gaze begins to dip away from hers to look around the room.

"Yeah," Erin replies with a nod of her head, and her own gaze sweeps down to look at the counter and the six pack of Durstin Gold sitting next to her because there's always gonna be a part of her wishes they could have gotten there earlier. That someone had listened to Fraser earlier; that someone could have saved Sarah before she got pimped out like her unit was able to do for Lacey today.

"Jay says you're really good at that. Talking to people," Mouse explains as he moves to cross his arms and hid the lingering twitch of his hand. "Says we could have used you back in Afghanistan with some of our missions."

The announcement reflexively twists the corner of her lips up into a smile, but it also brings Will's comment back to the forefront of her mind and her smile falters ever so slightly as she taps her fingers against the box of Durstin Gold. As she shifts her head side to side and silently weighs the merits of what Mouse has said.

"I don't know about that," Erin says after a moment with a smile. "He had you and after seeing you in action today—"

The comment causes a small blush of pink to spread across Mouse's face, and the color deepens immediately when they hear boots on the concrete floor, when Mouse lifts his head and Erin looks over her shoulder to see Jay stepping into the Mouse Hole, as Ruzek so dubbed it one day. His friend and her partner kind of falters into the doorway for a moment before stepping inside and jerking his thumb towards the exit as he announces that Voight wants to see Mouse.

A color sort of drains from Mouse's face, but he swallows the lump in his throat and steps around the counter without questioning the passed along order. His hand twitches ever so slightly as he moves past Erin, and his whole body seems to jump when Jay reaches out to squeeze his shoulder and reassure him that it's gonna be okay as he walks by. And he seems to be taking the announcement in stride as he slams the open, metal cage door behind him and heads towards the staircase leading upstairs to the Intelligence bullpen and Voight's office leaving Erin and Jay alone.

"You don't think Voight's gonna fire him after what happened today, do you?" Halstead asks as he moves towards Erin jerking his thumb over his shoulder once again. And Erin wants to laugh, wants to tell Jay not to get stupid on her because they both know how impressive it was what Mouse did today. But she can also see the concern in his eyes that he tries to hid and knows enough of Mouse's history — his stint as Jay's CI, his twitches due to a combination of drugs and past trauma, his efforts to clean himself up thanks in large part to this job, his time being the only one who was there for Jay — to take this concern seriously.

"No, I think Voight just wants to make sure the gun wasn't loaded," Erin replies with a shake of her head. "You know, a kind of tell him the truth so he can lie for us thing."

"Hmm," Jay hums out noncommittally as he comes to lean against the counter next to her, as he lets the fingers of his right hand rub against his forehead just below his hairline. A movement that serves as a clear sign to her that he's concerned because she knows her partner's ticks, because she knows enough about him to know when something's bothering him even if she doesn't know all the details about his past. Doesn't know much more about his relationship with Mouse beyond the little he's shared with her and the little his brother has spilled.

"Hey," Erin snaps loudly as she takes a step towards him so he has no choice but to drop his hand and look at her. "If Hank let me back in, he's not gonna kick Mouse out for lying about the gun being loaded or not."

"Little different when the guy's your dad."

The comment causes Erin's eyes to narrow, to hold Jay's as he breaks out in a grin that lets her know his comment was meant to be a quip. Meant to make her smile over his sass, over the way he constantly tries to label Hank as something he isn't.

Or, maybe he is. Because Hank went to the same lengths — and then farther — as Fraser went for Sarah today. Because she tried so hard today to save him, to get Bunny to backpedal on what she had done and when she had failed, he tried not to let her wallow in the guilt. And so she lets her eyes soften and her lips lift into a small smile. Shrugs her shoulders as though to say there may be some truth to his words.

"You and Mouse planning on kicking back a few cold ones down here just the two of you?" Jay asks with a tap of his fingers against the six pack on the counter between them.

"Yeah, why? You jealous?" Erin quips back with a pointed look and a smile that widens into a grin over the way Jay's expression falters. His grin dipping ever so slightly into a frown; his bright eyes dimming ever so slightly over the suggestion that he's being excluded. Or, worse, that this is a date.

A thought Erin immediately squashes because she's not ready to go there yet, not ready to explore what she and Halstead are beyond work partners. Not when she barely got her job back and Hank's edict that they keep things professional still stands. Not when Bunny's lashing out and stirring shit up in the hopes of jamming up Voight. Not when she's finally, finally starting to feel like she's on solid ground and that she and Jay are back to being good.

"No, actually this is for Mouse. And you, if he wants," Erin explains as she nudges the six-pack across the counter towards him. "I was gonna buy him a drink tonight. You know, as a thanks for a good job today. But I know he's not really big on going to Molly's, and I know how you two sit down here after shift sometimes so—"

Those eyes and that grin return over her words, and Erin finds herself having to look away and bite her lip as Jay offers her thanks in return and asks if she wants to join them. Afraid she'll end up asking for information that he isn't willing to share with her just yet. Afraid she'll chicken out on what she knows she needs to do in order to keep from letting Bunny's antics and comments today trip her up.

"Thanks, but, uh, I'm actually gonna go over to Chicago Med," she softly explains watching the way his features twist into a look of concern out of the corner of her eye as she continues to look down at the badge clipped to her waist. "I, uh, sort of promised Hank that I'd give talking to Doctor Charles a try. It didn't really go well this morning, but maybe tonight will be…"

She trails off because she's both uncomfortable with the words she's softly confessing and startled by the feeling of his slightly calloused fingertips against the back of her hand. Yet it takes her only a fraction of a second to decide to roll her hand over, to place her palm upwards so Jay can slip his hand into hers and give it a squeeze. And the touch causes her head to twist so her eyes can meet his, so she can lose herself in the depths of his caring gaze.

"Took me a long time after I came back to, uh, finally talk to someone about it," Jay quietly informs her as he gives her hand another squeeze. "Mouse pretty much had to drag me there, but it helped a lot so I'm really glad you're doing this, Erin."

She thinks about making a joke, about twisting all this into nothing more than an attempt to get out of Hank's house. But the touch of his fingers against hers reminds her of how she doesn't want to lie to him, how she wants to get back to the point where she trusts him with her past and he trusts her with his. And so she nods her head forcing a small smile as she slips her hand out of his grip.

"Tell Mouse I said good job today," Erin instructs Jay as she taps the six pack and then steps away from the counter. She doesn't look back over her shoulder when he promises that he will, and she's halfway towards the door leading out to the garage and the back entrance of the district when she hears him softly call out her name. Pauses for a moment and then turns around to watch him gather two beer bottles from the six-pack and step around the counter with his back towards her.

"Shift change already happened over at Med so you might have better luck finding Doctor Charles over at Molly's," Jay informs her without looking up as he loops his foot around the leg of one of Mouse's office chairs and pulls it towards him. "Will's been introducing all his coworkers to the place. He thinks if he brings more people with him, Herrmann will start giving him a discount."

"A discount? From Herrmann? Good luck with that," Erin replies with a snort of laughter that causes Jay to glance up at her and smile as she thanks him for the information before pushing open the heady door to the Mouse Hole. And she glances back at him with her own smile as she props open the door, as she promises that she'll see him tomorrow.

"See you tomorrow," Jay calls after her retreating form missing the way her smile falters as she fishes out her keys and heads towards her car just as she misses the way his smile falls as he sinks into the office chair and takes a swig of his beer. Worry and uncertainty flickering across both of their faces.


	4. Know This (3x04)

**Author's Note:** One of the biggest transitions fails with season three, for me, was the jump from Voight giving Jay his blessing in 3x02 to Jay telling Erin that she knows Voight doesn't have a problem with them in 3x06. Ok, but who told Erin this? Did Hank tell her about the green light? Did Jay? So this is my attempt at answering those questions. It's set during 3x04 before Erin was all smiles at Molly's with Jay.

* * *

 _I don't wanna be the first one folding._

 _I don't wanna be the joker heart._

 _Tell me, darling, will you understand me?_

 _And not show me your cards?_

\- "Hollow" by Tori Kelly

The white Toyota's tail lights flicker red as the car slows to a stop at the intersection down the street, and Hank's gaze narrows as he watches the Toyota makes a left turn towards the highway. The relatively minor traffic violation irks him despite how frequently he fails to utilize at this particular intersection because his grandson is strapped into the backseat of that Toyota. New carseat and base picked up just this morning for his ride home from the hospital in his grandpa's Escalade and, now, for the long drive back to base with his mom and dad.

Hank hadn't expected to see these brake lights so soon. He had hoped he'd get to finally take his grandson to Rainforest Cafe and watch the little boy's eyes up light up over the piped in animal sounds and the fake gorillas now that Beckett was behind bars again. But the Army is structured and regimented - all the things he wanted Justin to have - and he has to respect that Justin must report back to base on time or be listed as AWOL. Understands Justin's desire to get his family out of here as soon as possible after he nearly saw his wife and son blown sky high.

He waits a few minutes after the Toyota disappears around the corner before he turns around. An undecipherable grunt escapes when he sweeps his gaze up the sidewalk to see Erin leaning against the brick column of the porch. He's been in her life long enough to know that look, to see the guilt eating away at her from the inside out all the way from where he stands near the curb of the street in front of the house.

He doesn't like that look or where it takes her, and he's seen to far too much over the last thirty-six hours. In the hospital last night, in the bullpen this morning, and then again this evening when she hesitated as Olive passed her the baby to say goodbye. His glare squashing Justin's as the baby grabbed onto a lock of Erin's hair and then softening when he saw her press a soft kiss against the unmarred skin of Daniel's forehead. Heard the little baby gurgle and grin at her.

Neither of them had told Justin or Olive about Erin's mother involvement in the events of last night, but his son has always carried a massive chip on his shoulder when it comes to Erin. First because she ended his reign as an only child. Then because she made good by becoming a cop while he made pisspoor choices. And so there had been some animosity and some assumptions on Justin's part that hung around them both tighter than the short, half-hearted goodbye hug Justin and Erin gave each other moments ago. That will probably travel back to base with Justin and be stewed over and added to the long list of slights Justin keeps in his head.

Voight will deal with the fallout from his son's anger when it eventually bubbles forth. Try to placate him with promises of another dinner out just him, Olive, Justin, and Daniel or, better yet, force Justin to hash out his anger over Erin's relationship with Hank once and for all. For now, though, Hank focuses on that look on her face as he strides up the sidewalk towards the house and climbs the stairs with the echoing thump of his heavy boots.

The arms folded across her chest and the determined look in her eyes as she rolls her gaze over to him reminds Hank of something Camille once told him about how your kids never stop being teenagers. Sullen and moody and thinking they know best at three and thirteen and thirty. The thought of his wife brings a smile to his face; a reflex as his raises his hand and slides it against Erin's cheek. Cups her face and tips her chin so she has no choice but to look him straight in the eye.

"Not your fault," Hank gruffly reminds her looking straight at the guilt clouding her vision. "You hear me, kiddo?"

She hesitates slightly and then her eyes flicker closed as she nods her head, as she releases the guilt on an exhale of air. And Hank gently taps her cheekbone with his fingers in a silent demand for her to open her eyes again so he can see if the ugly look of guilt is gone. Smiles at her when she complies and lets him see the bright eyes of someone who is healthy and clean.

"You clean up that bathroom yet?"

He lets out a gruff chuckle when she silently pulls away from him rolling her eyes up towards the back of her head in response. He's been after her since yesterday morning to clean the bathroom up - empty the trash can, put the towels in the washing machine, clean her hair out of the sink before it clogs up the drain - and wanted her to get it done before Justin and his family showed up. Compromised that she'd do it while they were out at dinner. Forgot about it in the hunt to get Beckett.

"Finished it while you were helping Justin and Olive pack up," Erin informs him as Hank's hand slides from her cheek back down to his side.

"So if I go up there, there's not gonna be any hair in the sink?" Hank questions flicking his gaze from her face to the second floor of his house. The guilty look on her face morphs into one of exasperation and annoyance as she protests under her breath that not all the hair in that sink was hers. Insists that some of it was Olive's in the same petulant tone of voice she'd use when she and Justin would get into it. Bickering and arguing over whose turn it was to unload the dishwasher or shovel the sidewalk until Camille would give them that look - the one where she'd purse her lips and raise one eyebrow daring them to try her.

"So long as it's cleaned," Voight replies as he turns towards the open, front door of the house. The door had been left propped open in the scramble to get Justin and his family on the road; Olive running back in the house to grab a forgotten blanket and then yelling at Justin to do the same when she realized Danny's binkie had been left on the kitchen counter. Hank barely has to nudge the door with the toe of his boot to get it to open wide enough for him to step inside the house, and he can hear the audible click of the door being slammed shut behind him as he makes his way down the hallway towards the kitchen.

The dish rack by the sink is empty; the bottles once stacked haphazardly in the rack packed up and sent home with the baby. Cleaning supplies stand in a cluster on the kitchen table having likely been dumped there by Erin when Hank called her over to say goodbye. But before Hank can call Erin back into the kitchen to clean up this new mess, she appears by his side gathering the Lysol and the Comet to her chest and heading over to put them back in the cabinet underneath the sink.

Watching her reminds him that he'll need to invest in some baby locks for that cabinet. Daniel will be crawling next time he comes to visit, and the last thing Hank wants is to turn visits to the hospital into a tradition every time his grandson comes here. Already went there once when Olive was pregnant and nearly asphyxiated on a plastic bag and then again last night when the car bomb went off.

The thought causes his mood to darken, and his forehead crinkles as his features pull together into a look that only those who know him best can read. People like Erin, who places her hand on the right forearm of the arms crossed against his chest and pulls his attention from his thoughts to her gaze.

"I'm gonna head on over to Molly's. Meet up with Jay, if you wanna come," Erin offers with a shrug. Her plans to hit up a bar still make him a little uneasy because alcohol has been her gateway drug before. But there's a louder voice - one that sounds a hell of a lot like Camille - in his head that implores him to trust her. To remember that Erin has been clean and sober for awhile now and that her being able to stop at one is just as important as her not having any.

That voice is the reason why he bought her a beer the last time they were at Molly's when the unit was out celebrating closing a difficult case, and that voice is why he won't insist she stay home with him tonight. Or tomorrow or for the indefinite future until all she's got in life is him and a job that's never gonna love her back.

"Thought you'd outgrown me chaperoning dates with your boyfriend," he replies with a twisted smirk and a gruff laugh over the way her face sours at the suggestion. She's been over him chaperoning her dates since November 15 when she moved into this house and then told him that he couldn't stop her from seeing Charlie.

"Don't start this again," Erin retorts releasing her grip on his forearm and folding her own arms across her chest. Her eyes are daring him to try her flashing dangerously as she asserts that nothing is going on with her and Halstead before her gaze shifts downward and her voice drops to a lower, more gravelly octave. "We know the rules."

Despite the heat of her gaze, there's still a tiny twinge of unhappiness to her voice that Voight picks up on because he raised her and because he is, quite frankly, surprised to hear her say that. Figures that the way Halstead had been walking around the bullpen with it out of his pants for so long meant something would have happened there. Again. Especially after Hank told him that he didn't care about anything other than making sure Halstead had her back twenty-four seven.

"Huh," Hank grunts out in reply, and Erin's eyes - dark with pretend indifference she's trying to hide behind - lift upward to look at him. Hank's eyes have darkened as well as some of the anger over the past few days shifts targets. "Figured Halstead knew a good thing when he saw it. Breaks the rules whenever he wants, but when he gets an exemption, he doesn't-"

"Wait, what?" Erin interrupts. The pretend indifference in her eyes has been replaced by confusion as she asks Hank what he exactly he means by an exemption. And then that emotion is replaced by hurt and disbelief when Hank explains that he told Halstead when he came back from medical leave that he didn't care about their relationships status so long as Jay had her back.

"Figured he would have told you," Voight adds after a moment of silence during which Erin has shifted her gaze back to the ground and recoiled within herself. Her silence speaks volumes, and Hank sighs in response.

He had thought it was a good thing she spent last night with Halstead instead of going out to the Rainforest Cafe with Justin and his family even before Beckett tried to exact his revenge. Figured a gamble with the cohesiveness of his unit was better than her poppin' pills or sticking shit up her nose. That the possibility of her getting in trouble like Olive and Justin had about a year ago was worth the gamble if it meant she'd stay happy and clean and on the force.

But he can tell from her reaction, which she's trying and failing to hide behind a shield of indifference again, that last night hadn't been what he thought it was when she passed on his invitation saying something about hanging out with Halstead. And her reaction causes his anger to mount because for all he said about not caring about their relationships status, he still cares about Erin and he still cares if she's getting hurt.

This is exactly why he didn't want to take this gamble. Didn't want to see Erin leave Halstead's broken heart behind her or, worse, watch Halstead crush hers. Didn't want to have to step into what used to be Camille's territory. Bunny, Erin's addictions, and her rap sheet? That was his department. Affairs of the heart? That he left up to Camille.

It had been Camille who held Erin when she cried over that low-life Charlie and who had confronted him in the basement about not making a trip out to the silos simply because Erin claimed to love the guy. And it is Camille's voice now that swirls in his head, that causes his jaw to tighten as he mulls over her words.

"Hmm," Hank says interrupting the silence advancing forward so he could lift his hand and touch her cheek again, if he wanted. He doesn't figuring she needs him to be the tough guy right now. The boss who isn't gonna put up with this nonsense in his unit. "Guess I won't count on Halstead to help you move back into your apartment this weekend. But the guy's still your partner. Still gonna have your back out there."

Halstead had, at least, promised him that, and Voight wants to think the guy isn't dumb enough to lie straight to his face about that. Lie by omission about starting' something up with Erin, sure. But not about leaving her without backup after the way he reacted during her sabbatical pestering him about if Voight had heard from her and whether or not he should reach out.

"My apartment?" Erin questions glancing up at him with an expression that has shifted back to confusion. He had planned to wait until later in the week to tell her, but it had felt right to tell her now. Like she needed a piece of good news to keep her from slipping up. Even now with Halstead doing the exact opposite of what Hank expected him to do - _again_ \- he trusts that Erin won't go down that path.

She's been clean for several weeks now and, clearly, has a couple more reasons why she needs to cut Bunny out of her life now. She's back to being steady at work running point on capturing Beckett and not falling apart when the guilt gets to her. And now that she's got that bathroom cleaned up? Better to get her out now before she destroys it again.

"Figured it's about time you went home," Hank explains. "Get a good night's sleep without that window rattling and keeping you up."

"You trust me to live alone, again?" Erin questions with evident surprise in both her eyes and her tone of voice. This had been the goal since she moved back in. The reason why she didn't pitch a fit about the piss cups by her coffee mug on a random morning before work. But back when Hank checked over her bags for contraband before driving her back to his place, it had seem like a long time down the road before they'd get.

"You got a reason why I shouldn't?" Hank asks with a stern look on his face and his eyebrows raised in question. And when she shakes her head and adamantly tells him no, he slips back into the role of father figure from boss as he raises his hand to clasps against her shoulder. Squeezes it tightly over the fabric of her red leather jacket as he tells her, "I'm proud of you, kiddo. Not many cops come back from dark places like you have."

Erin solemnly nods her head, and Hank would like to think the tears gathering in the corner of her eyes are over his words rather than any rejection she may still be feeling about Halstead. He knows a good thing when he sees it and hopes that Halstead at least recognizes this part of Erin as a good thing. Guy came back to the unit and accepted Erin as his partner without reservations or complaints. Never looked at her funny or second guessed her handling a gun or driving as far as Hank could tell.

And the thought causes his teeth to clench and his jaw to lock as he mulls over Halstead's promise of 'always' and the reaction of the voice inside his head. The same one that told him to make an exception for her and Jay after Erin's return, and the same one that reminds him now that it had been Halstead who refused to give up on her and Halstead whom she had returned for.

Erin has already slipped out of his grip by the time Hank opens his mouth. Probably headed upstairs with plans to blow off Halstead for that drink and work on packing up her room. She'll need to clean that up, too, before she moves out, after all. She turns back halfway when he calls her name glancing over her shoulder to look at him with a look that's part elation and part confusion.

"Like I told Halstead, I don't know what your relationship status is with him and I don't want to know, but he did promise he'd always have your back," Hank informs her with a gruff voice and an unflinching gaze after deciding to give credit where credit might be due. "And the last couple of weeks - hell, even during your sabbatical - he's been doing that. Makin' sure you're okay so you can get your badge back and keep it. So whatever you two do or don't have goin' on, he's still been your partner. Still probably goin' to wanna have a drink with you after a hard day to make sure you're okay and to celebrate good news."

Erin's gaze holds his; her eyes unflinching and nonreactive for a long moment even after he ceases talking. It is just enough time for him to question if he stuck his foot into mouth and inserted himself a situation he knows better than to get involved in. Make him wish even harder that Camille was still here because she knew how to do the parent thing and the hardass boss thing all in one go.

And then the silence breaks with the sound of Erin's boots on the tiled floor of the kitchen as she moves over to the table where the cleaning supplies used to stand. Erin snatches her keys and her cellphone on the table where she dumped them when she got home this evening slipping them into the pocket of her red, leather jacket without a word or a readable facial expression.

She gets halfway down the hallway towards the front door before she twists her head and looks back over her shoulder at him. Before she abides by his rules and tells him with the bright eyes of a healthy and happy individual that she's going to Molly's to celebrate.

Hank nods his head in reply and watches her heads towards the front door without reminding her about curfew because she's an adult and he trusts her. Because, for all his jokes, he's not interested in chaperoning her dates anymore, although he could use a stiff drink to forget about last night and what nearly happened to his grandson.

Probably needs to buy a glass of merlot to work on unit cohesion with Al, Hank reckons as he reaches into the pocket of his jacket to pull out his cell phone and then punches in the number for Al's cell phone. And, as he walks past the stairs towards the front door clutching the phone to his ear and the keys to the Escalade in his left hand, Voight figures he deserves a beer or something to celebrate catching Beckett and finally getting his bathroom back.


	5. Form and Function (3x05)

**Author's Note:** Please note that this chapter has been bumped up to an "M" rating. I watched the couch scene one too many times and things got a little out of hand. If you're uncomfortable with reading fics rated "M", then please skip this chapter and the next update will be back to a rating you're more comfortable with. (The beauty of oneshots is you can skip without missing major developments in the plot.) This chapter was also (loosely) inspired by Sophia Bush's tweeting during 3x05/3x06 live-tweet that "'One time deal" in cop sarcasm, loosely translates to 'I'm fucking with you to watch you squirm".

* * *

Don't put your lips up to my mouth and tell you can't stay.

Don't slip your hand under my shirt and tell it's okay.

Don't say it doesn't matter cause it's gonna matter to me.

\- "Alone With You" by Jake Owen

The rough pads of his fingertips skim along the soft, bare skin just above the waistband of her jeans, and her skin prickles under his touch as she tilts her hips upward to meet his. Feels him through the heavy fabric of his jeans and then allows one of the hands clasped against his cheek to fall down to rest in the space between their bodies.

The space is small and cramped, and she has to twist her wrist at an interesting angle to touch him. To run her fingers over the rigid zipper of his jeans and then slip her hand under the waistband of his pants so he ends up panting in her ear.

"Erin."

She likes the way her name fall from his lips - the gasped words of a desperate man crossed with the sharp staccato of someone trying to stay in control - and she lets the tilt of her head, the press her lips against his be her answer. Swallows up his moan with an open-mouth kiss as she twists her wrist again and wraps her fingers around him. His hips instinctively undulate against hers trapping her wrist and her hand so she barely has enough room to slide her fingers against the soft, heated skin of his dick. And she grins when he tears his lips from hers, when he moves to press his face into the crook of her neck and lets out an appreciative groan against the skin of her neck.

The differences in their heights means the shift in his posture causes his spine to curve and the space between their bodies to increase in size. The hand planted to the left of her head presses downward against the supple yet firm couch cushion as her fingers slip and stroke against him, and Erin is jostled slightly by the springy movement of the couch cushion. Her head lolls to the side until her cheek presses up against his ear, and she can feel the muscle of his cheek grow taunt as he tightens his jaw.

Her name still manages to escape through his clinched teeth trailed by another groan when her fingers slip over the head of his dick. Her nail nicks against the sensitive head causing an expletive to fall from his lips, and his right hand - the one that had still against the skin of her back when her hand wrapped around him - moves quickly to curl around her wrist.

Jay yanks her hand out of his pants so quickly that Erin's eyes widen in surprise, and the grip of her legs around his waist immediately tightens in expectation that he is planning to pull away from her. That Jay will sit himself on the far end of her couch, rub his fingers against his forehead just below his hairline, and try to come up with some stupid joke to try to distract them both from the fact that he doesn't want her hand down his pants. Doesn't want her.

Except the grip on her wrist slackens as he slides his fingers down her palm and then threads his fingers with hers. And her arm is twisted and rotated so it rests above her head; the back of her hand pressing against the arm of the couch when Jay's hot breath skims over her ear and his teeth nip at the lobe.

"Slow," Jay instructs before trailing kisses along her jawline. He misses the sight of her lips morphing into a smirk as the realization that he was about to come that quickly registers in Erin's mind, and she wonders briefly how long it has been if Jay has suddenly become a two pump chump.

Decides that line of thinking is none of her business because they weren't together and he's not her boyfriend and, besides, Jay's fingers are back to skimming against the bare skin of her back and his lips are back to pressing against hers. Hot, open mouth kisses that distract her from the movement of his fingers until she feels the brush of fabric against her chin.

They break the kiss long enough for him to pull the plaid shirt over her head; the fabric, thankfully, loose enough so they don't have to waste time undoing rows of tiny buttons. Her right hand moves from its position above her head to press against his shoulder when she hears his groan of frustration as he realizes there it still a bra and blank tank top to remove. Her grip around his waist slackens slightly as Erin pushes against her shoulder and, this time, it is Jay's eyes that widen in response to her movement. Grow wider still when she crunches her abdominal muscles in order to lift her back off the couch cushion and peels the tank top off in one fluid movement.

The tank top falls somewhere over the edge of the couch onto the floor creating a pile with the discarded plaid shirt and is eventually joined by Jay's t-shirt after the fingers of Erin's left hand tugged at the hem of his shirt. His bare skin brushes against the padding of her plain, black bra and the tented front of his jeans bumps against the flap of fabric covering the zipper of her pants when he lowers himself back on top of her, when his lips press against hers and her left leg wraps tightly around his waist again.

They stay like that for a moment - his hips pushing hers down into the cushion of the couch, her nails raking gently across the bare skin of his back, and their lips pressing against one another in ravenous kisses. He's given up all pretense of trying to hover above her having moved his left hand from beside her head and pinned it beneath her back. There is barely a gap between her back and the cushion, and she can feel him awkwardly twisting his wrist against her spine as he reaches for the hooks of her bra.

The feeling of his dick sliding against her pelvis through the fabric of their jeans causes her back to arch, and the overwhelming heat down there is stymied by the brush of cold air against her breasts as the straps of her bra fall slack against her upper arms. With one opportunity and with one flick of the wrist, Jay managed to undo the clasp of her bra, and she can feel his smirk of self-congratulations - because there's still some parts of him that like to show off - against her lips as his hand travels from her back to her front.

His fingers skip over the cups and the straps of her bra, however, in favor of curling around her chin. His thumb taps against the line of her jaw just before he breaks the kiss instructing her to open her eyes and look at him. She stares at him for moment with flushed cheeks and heavy breathes, and Erin can see the question in his eyes. He wants permission as though her kisses and her active participation weren't enough of answer because he's Jay and he's the gentleman he always swore he would be.

And Erin nods her head in reply then crunches her abdominal muscles again to press a kiss against the line of his jaw. Falls back against the supple yet firm cushion of the couch leaving enough space for Jay to peel the bra from her body before it, too, joins the pile on the floor.

His lips don't return to hers. Rather, they press against the top swell of her right breast in a series of kisses leading right to her nipple, which his hot tongue circles and traces until it is her turn to pant out his name. Her fingers immediately thread through his hair clenching tightly as he moves from right to left trailing wet kiss across the skin in between, and Jay allows Erin to hold him in place against her left breast for a moment. Lets her think that she has control even as she moans and arches her back against him.

"Jay," she gasps when he moves away from her breast trailing his lips down the center of her body. His tongue slips into her navel, and Erin's hips jerk upward against his in response. The contact is almost painful thanks to the zipper pressing into him through the fabric of his boxer briefs, and Jay shifts his knees against the couch cushions to pull his lower half away from hers.

Yet Erin's reflexes are quick, and the hands that had been clutching the back of his head twists around his body to brush against him. Fingers slip over the buckle of his pants and tug at the strap of the belt pulling it out of the loops around the waistband of his jeans.

Her knees part further still - right leg pressing up against the back cushion of the couch - in order to give her more access to him, and Erin blindly, nimbly works on undoing his belt as hot, open mouth kisses are punctuated with gentle nips against her stomach. She squirms as the ache deep in her belly grows and the rough stubble of his cheek scratches against the smooth skin of her belly. Forgets about undoing his belt buckle for a moment as the muscles of his stomach ripple and flex against her hands, which affords Jay the opportunity to grab her wrist one more time and hold her still.

His chin digs into the muscles of her stomach as he moves his head to stare up at her, and she sees the same cautious question in his eyes that she thought had already been settled. She kissed him because she wanted to thank him. He kissed her because he wanted to kiss her. And she straddled him because she wanted him. Because she was trying of pretending like she was okay without this.

Not sex, per say. Sex with him is different. Always has been. But, more importantly, she wants him and his stupid jokes and the way he makes her feel like - she doesn't know how to describe it. She can't touch _that_ word. Not yet, at least. But she can touch his cheek with her hand and hope he understands that she'd be more cognisant about cleaning up the bathroom if it meant he stick around.

"It's okay," she murmurs watching as his eyebrows pitch upward in question. He has no idea what she is saying 'okay' to and, frankly, neither does she. Maybe that it's okay because, as she informed him at Molly's the other night, they both know about Hank giving his blessing? Maybe that it's okay if this isn't want he wants? Maybe that it's okay if he doesn't use a condom?

The last option is the last one is the one he settles on, and the look that appears on her face isn't one of offense as he asks if there are still condoms in the nightstand by her bed because, he adds in a low slightly embarrassed voice, he didn't bring one with him tonight. He didn't plan for this to happen and, frankly, neither did she despite what her pitched eyebrow in the break room had suggested.

She was enjoying their flirty banter and the return to normalcy more than anything else, but then he had to start talking about his rugged good looks and his razor-sharp mind and it just felt right to kiss him. To let the blink-and-you-miss-it press of her lips against his say all the thanks that she wants to tell him over and over again.

And, now, he's the one that goes for a blink-and-you-miss-it kiss as he presses his lips to the under swell of her breast before he slips from between her knees and moves to stand on his own feet. The buckle of his belt clangs against the top of his thigh, and his jeans slide every so slightly down his hips to reveal the 'v' line above his thighs.

Jay doesn't hold his hand out for her to grasp so he can pull her into the bedroom, and he doesn't move to pick her up, either. Which is fine with Erin because she doesn't think she can move and this couch is too damn comfortable, anyways. Instead, he stares at her - head cocked to the side ever so slightly - as though he's afraid she might disappear. It's a look that startles her - unnerves her, even - because it reminds her the way he looked at her on a night she'd rather forget.

But her furrowed eyebrows are smoothed away by the press of his fingers to her cheeks as he cups her face between his palms. Long fingers slide against the underside of her jaw when he bends down and kisses her. The soft, gentle movement of his lips against hers says what he's already told her - that he's glad she pulled herself out of the hole, that he's kissing her simply because he wants to - and maybe some things she's not ready to hear.

She's not entirely sure what, though, and Erin muses on the possibilities only for a moment as she enjoys the feeling of his lips against hers, of his hands cupping her cheeks and holding her so gently. Decides to focus on the here and now and save her concerns about 'one day' for another day just as Jay pulls away from her.

He's only taken three or four steps towards the open entry of her bedroom when he releases a small chuckle of laughter. She follows the nod of his head to the front door of her apartment, and she doesn't need to twist herself into knots to see from where she lays on the couch that know that she forgot to shut the front door behind them.

"So much for sneaking around," she jokes under her breath as she watches him stiffly stride towards the door. Even in profile, she can see that he isn't too thrilled with her joke, and Jay sort of sneaks a look at her as he makes his way back towards her bedroom. That same 'not sure this is really happening' look he had the first time she showed up at his apartment and kissed him mixing with his 'not sure about sneaking around' look he had when she returned to Intelligence, and she focuses on kicking off her boots rather than the answer to his uncertainty while she waits.

Erin's left boot hits the hardwood floor with a thud and falls next to the right just as Jay returns. They were certainly together long enough for him to know where she keeps the condoms. Not that she's very inventive in hiding them, as Hank found out when he tried to help her pack up her things for her to move in with him. The bottom drawer of her nightstand had been slammed shut so quickly and so loudly that, for a moment, Erin thought Hank had found a stash of pills Landon or Bunny left that she'd yet to swallow.

She looks up to see Jay copying her with a grimace on his face as the seam of his pants dig into him as he tries to kick off his own boots. And then he's back beside her pressing the foil package into her palm as he presses his knee into the couch. Erin is jostled slightly by the compression of the cushion, but the new couch springs back to form as Jay shifts his body and moves back into the space between her legs.

His fingers work on the buckle of her belt because she didn't have time to remove her pants in the short amount of time it took for him to locate the condoms. Erin works on tearing open the wrapper; her fingers shaking slightly when Jay bends down to dip his tongue back into her belly button once more.

The rougher skin of his cheek slides against her stomach as he tugs her pants and her damp underwear down her soft yet muscular legs, and she forgets about the task completely when his scruff grazes the inside of her right thigh. Balls the half-open wrapper in her hand when Jay swipes his tongue against her damp flesh and drops her pants to the floor.

"Fuck," she mumbles on a breathless gasp as her head tilts backward into the cushion and her back arches upward. He kisses her response, then lets his tongue drag lazily between her folds until her hand falls to his head and she presses herself up against him as she threads her fingers through his hair.

The thought that they're going to stain her couch is forgotten as his lips find her clit, as he swirls his tongue over the bundle of nerves there. Heat spreads across her body racing through her like a wildfire and, for once, she thinks she might end up being a two pump chump as his tongue laps against her. Strokes her while his lips caress until the heat becomes too much and she's twisting against him as she gasps out his name.

"Erin," he replies after pulling his mouth from her. The hands that had been pressed against her thighs slide downward closer still to the apex of her thighs, and his long fingers reach out to trace her outer lips. Hold her open so his right finger can slip inside and then curl upward. A slow, languid penetration that causes her to moan.

Her eyes flutter shut - it's too much effort to keep them open as she relishes in the attention he's lavishing on her - and she squinters them closed tighter still when his tongue mimics the movement of his finger. Curls it upward to touch the part so few have cared to find that causes her right leg to shake and her voice to grow even deeper and huskier with every groan. And then she's there - heated warmth spreading across her body like a wildfire as she tries to greedily absorb all the sensations he's inflicting upon her that she can.

He keeps his mouth against her gently sliding it against her sensitive, we skin as her breathing levels, and even before she opens her eyes, she can feel his gaze upon her. Looking at her over the bump of her pubic bone; watching her reaction as she slowly drifts out of incoherent bliss.

Erin doesn't say anything as Jay lifts his head and studies her eyes, but she does raise one hand and place her palm against his chest when he presses his hands into the couch cushion on either side of her head and hovers over her. Gently slides her fingers against his skin and feels the muscles coil beneath her touch as jean-clad erection bumps against the wet apex of her thighs.

"You don-"

Her question - a joke meant to allay the tiny amount of awkwardness - is silenced by the press of his lips against hers. A slow, deep kiss that they both sort of fall into as he shifts to his elbows and braces his forearms against the couch cushions so he can run his fingers through her hair and cup the back of her head. Her bare leg brushes against the soft fabric of the couch as she parts her legs further, and she breathes heavily in his ear when the kiss is eventually broken.

Erin lets out an uncharacteristically girly giggle when they are suddenly shifted into the position they started all this from. Jay sits against the couch cushion, and she sits with her legs straddling either side of him and her hands curled around his neck and broad shoulders. She hadn't even realized that his hands had shifted to her waist and backside until now, and the wrapper still clutched in her right hand falls into a wrinkled mess on the couch beside them as she stares into Jay's eyes.

Just for a moment, just long enough to compel her to press her forehead against his. She follows it up with another one of those blink-and-you-miss-it kisses before dropping her gaze and her hands down to the button of his jeans. It takes team work to pull his pants down just enough for his erection to bob free; Jay clinching his calf and quad muscles to lift himself up off the couch and Erin yanking on the fabric at just the right moment.

The broad head of his erection slips against her thigh and then against her wet folds as they both blindly slide their hands across the couch cushions trying to locate the condom. His fingers find the crumpled wrapper first, and Erin peppers kisses against her jaw and his neck and then the bumpy skin of his right shoulder where he took a bullet as Jay works at sliding the condom on. And Erin doesn't give Jay the opportunity to silently ask her if she's sure again when his hands return to her waist.

Instead, she slips her hand down to curl around his erection and help slowly guide him inside her. She watches the bliss spread across his face when he slips inside, and she can feel his jaw clench with the effort to keep it slow against the lips she presses against his cheek. His stomach muscles are contracting; his right leg shaking every so slightly against her inner thigh as she sinks herself lower.

She knows what he's doing - giving her time to adjust, to set the tone and the pace - and Erin shifts her gaze so she can look at him from under heavy eyelids, so she can let him know that she's doing this because she wants to be with him. Even if it's just for tonight.

There's a small, imperceptible nod of his head and a flicker of understanding in his eyes as he lengthens his neck and presses his lips to hers. Captures her lips with his own as he curls his fingers around her hips and pulls her tighter to him. The pace is, of course, set by her with his grip on her waist merely there to help steady her when she becomes lost in the staccato of each measured thrust. And the couch does the same for him when the pleasure and the feeling becomes too much, when the pace suddenly becomes frantic as warmth spreads across his belly.

Erin knows exactly how to shift her body and how far to widen her legs when his breath becomes labored and the gasps in her ear become garbled versions of her name punctuated by a curse word or five. And her fingers twirl against the hair at the base of his neck when his suddenly frantic pace stills and his head slumps forward to fall into the crook of her neck again.

"Good, uh, function," he mumbles against her neck with hot, sticky breathes against her smooth skin that match the hot, sticky mess between them. And Erin nods her head - her cheek rubbing against the hair at the top of her head - in agreement as she tries to think of what to say in reply.

They've always had good function. Form, too. And she wonders if that will continue now that they don't have to sneak around. Continue, that is, if he wants to. The softening dick still inside might make anyone else think that he wants this, but Erin's been around enough guys and been used by enough of them to know that's not always the case.

Except this is Jay. A short answer that encompasses so much and yet still boils down to the singular fact that for all his teasing and all his suggestive comments, Jay's always waited for her to make the first move. Respected her boundaries and her hesitations even when it was the exact opposite of what he wanted. It's why he agreed to cool things between them. It's why, according to Hank and then by Jay himself after a couple of drinks at Molly's, that he wanted her back to being Erin before he figured out what that meant for him and for them. As partners. As a couple.

And it's why his fingers are slowly tracing soft circles up and down her spine and his lips are pressing gently against her neck. He's trying to let her know that this is what he wants without pushing her into anything, and Erin finds herself dipping her hand and placing a thank you kiss against his forehead just below his hairline as the sounds of cell phones buzzing fills the room.

They both immediately know which cell phones are buzzing. Jay's iPhone and his keys are pressed up against Erin's thigh from their place in the pocket of his jeans, and her iPhone fell into the crack of the sofa somewhere between losing her shirt and her pants. But their work phones are sitting side by side on the granite counters of her kitchen; one screen darkening with a missed call as the other lights up with an incoming call.

At worst, they'll have time to pull on their discarded clothes and formulate some plan so they don't arrive at the district at the same time. At best, they'll have an hour for Jay to go home and for Erin to shower and straighten up her apartment. Either way, they both know it isn't enough time for them to talk about what just happened and Jay seems to know Erin isn't ready to do so even if they had the time as she slips off his lap.

He doesn't watch her walk over to the counter concentrating instead on cleaning himself up and removing the used condom, which he carefully carries into the bathroom after her bedroom as she announces that they've got a body and Hank wants them to meet up at the deceased's house in an hour. Her panties and her plaid shirt are back on by the time he returns; his own shirt sitting in a pile on the couch next to her discarded jeans.

"So," he begins as he pulls the shirt over his head. The fabric obscures his vision long enough that he misses the hesitant shift of her weight from one foot to the other, and his eyes meet hers just as she announces that she'll see him in an hour. She, of course, does not miss the flicker of hesitation and confusion across his face before he accepts the cell phone held out to him in the palm of her hand with a nod of his head and starts walking towards the door.

"Jay," Erin calls after him, and he turns around to see her standing in the middle of her living room with one arm draped uncomfortably across her stomach. The lace of her panties peeks out from under her shirt, but his gaze remains fixated on her face as he waits for her to make the first move. Like always.

"Thanks for helping with the couch," she tells him with a smile that droops ever so slightly as she tries to figure out what to say next. And that smile twists into a smirk as she adds, "And for helping me test out the function."

Jay doesn't say that she's welcome or add some comment about being available any time she needs help with testing out the function or the form. He just gives her that wide, boyish smile of his before turning away and heading towards the door. That smile that never fails to make her smile; that smile that jumbles her thoughts as she turns back to look at the new couch while the front door of her apartment clicks shut.

"It is a nice couch," she murmurs as her eyes sweep over her apartment's newest piece of furniture. Form and function. Rugged good looks and a razor-sharp mind. Ready to save her and respectful of her ability to do so herself. Partner and _partner_.

That last conjunction pulls her lips into a smirking smile and smooths out her jumbled thoughts as she makes her way into her bathroom. Erin wants to keep the professional and the personal - the flirty banter and the serious understanding - and her thoughts swirl around the implications of what they just did on her couch could mean as she turns on the shower.

She'll joke about it with him - engage in flirty banter that will throw him off - when they slip into the break room to get coffee. And then, eventually, she'll make the first move by showing up at his place or something. Because when she steps into the shower, when the hot water nips at the small bites Jay peppered across her body, Erin knows that she wants is this - form and function, Erin and Jay.


	6. Ready For This (3x06)

**Author's Note:** Apologies for the delay in updating. I had a couple of people ask across various social media platforms ask if I plan to address particular episodes and the answer is, yes, I do. The plan for this series is to write a oneshot for each episode of Season Three. This oneshot picks up immediately at the close of 3x06 with Erin and Jay leaving Molly's together.

* * *

 _I'm ready for this; there's no denying._

 _I'm ready for this; you stop me falling._

 _I'm ready for this; I need you all in._

 _I'm ready for this so, darling, won't you hold my hand?_

\- "Hold My Hand" by Jess Glynne

The arm draped over her shoulders feels surprisingly light given the strength she knows he posses, and Erin reaches up to assure herself that his arm is still pressed against her. Her fingers wrap around his wrist tugging him closer, placing his hand against her chest so his fingers skim the top of her breast through the fabric of her jacket. And she can feel the steady drumbeat of his pulse against her fingers as she curls his hand around his wrist and then against her shoulder through the fabric of his jacket when she leans into his chest.

Erin's smile deepens when she feels Jay's nose brush against the side of her head, and she doesn't need to look up at him to know his lips are breaking out into a wide grin because she's doing the same. Jay may have jumped a few steps, skipped right over holding her hand, but this - kissing in Molly's, his arm slung over her shoulder - feels right. Feels a little bit like a dream when he presses his lips to the side of her head; feels a little bit like reality when the front door of Molly's is pushed open and the cool October air hits them.

The intersection in front of Molly's is practically deserted, but most of the street parking has been snagged by the firemen, cops, and doctors that frequent the bar. And there's a momentary pause where the two of them stand on the steps of the bar - Jay's arm still looped over her shoulders - and where Jay seems unsure of which direction to steer them both in. His eyes dart from left to right down the street, from where he knows he parked his car to where she might have parked hers.

And Erin bumps her hip against his to get his attention flicking her gaze down the street towards his car and raising a single eyebrow in a silent reply to the hesitant look in his eyes. She was serious when she said she had come down to see if he was there. Erin had circled the block pretending to look for a better parking spot; let the guy driving behind her think that she had zero confidence about her ability to parallel park. When, in reality, Erin had been looking for his car - or, the yellow and blue New York license plates his brother had yet to switch out because maybe they carpooled down here together - and she had parked her sedan right behind his a little ways down the street by design.

There's a lightness in her walk as he guides - or, maybe she drags given the way her hand still clutches his wrist - them over to his car, and Erin's smile widens further into a chuckle as a stupid and silly thought about this being what walking on Cloud Nine feels like crosses her mind. She doesn't believe in that kind of stuff - the romance novels and the chick flicks - but it's hard to shake the smile on her face or the laughter bubbling forth as Jay's lips skim against her head one more time.

"What's so funny?"

His voice is deep yet cautious, and the juxtaposition causes her to frown slightly. He seemed so confident and sure only moments ago - one kiss, two kisses in front of everyone at Molly's - and Erin doesn't want him to start to regret that. To backtrack out of fear that maybe tomorrow she'd tell him that this was all a one time thing or that she'll get scared about losing Voight's blessing.

So Erin turns her head, pushes up onto her tiptoes, and presses her lips against his. It's meant to be one of those short and sweet kisses just like the one she gave him last night because she wanted to thank him for never giving up on her and all the words she had about having people to pull her out of that hole weren't enough. But his arm falls from around her shoulders to curl around her waist dragging her closer to him that she allows the kiss to be deepened. Traces her tongue against his lips as her hand reaches up to press against his chest through the fabric of his jacket; parts her lips as his right hand moves to cup her cheek and trace his thumb against the line of her jaw.

"Ahem."

The sound of a throat being cleared is carried by the October breeze to their ears, and Erin briefly wonders if it's that uptight couple out of Portland that Antonio said was hassling Molly's as she pulls away from Jay. The choice words flickering across her mind become even more reactionary when she turns her head to see three familiar faces staring back at her.

Ruzek rocks back and forth on his heels with his hands jammed into his pockets and a shit-eating grin on his face as he elbows Atwater in the ribs. Antonio nods with a smile on his face like he knew this was coming, and Erin can feel Kevin's gaze watching her, trying to ascertain if she's straight or needs some backup as Ruzek booms about it being about time these two stop dancing around what everyone already knows. Jokes about how they should have started an inter-office betting pool on how long it would take them.

Erin can also feel the way Ruzek's comments insert space between her and Jay. His hands have slid from her cheek and her waist to hang limply, dejectedly by his sides as professionalism invades their personal time. And that smile of his - the small one that causes her to grin like an idiot - has hardened into something a little more cautious and unsure.

And she wants to press her lips to his in thanks all over again because she knows he's doing this out of respect for her because she loves her job and she craves keeping their personal lives private. Because she can tell just by looking at him that he knows he's already pushed the boundaries by kissing her in Molly's - twice - in front of his brother, Herrmann, and the other patrons that she has to interact with professionally from time to time.

A kiss is too much, though. Pushes her beyond her comfort zone despite her actions only moments ago. And so Erin reaches out with her right hand, slides her fingers across Jay's palm, and then curls them around his hand because this - holding his hand in public - is something she is ready to do. Wants to do. Longs to do.

Out of her peripheral vision, Erin watches Jay's lips lift upwards into a smile, and the corners of her mouth twitch to match his as she feels his fingers curl upwards to press against the band of her hand and hold her there. And she has to fight to keep that steely, unamused look on her face for semi-professionalism's sake as Jay's thumb brushes lightly over her knuckles.

"We'll see you all tomorrow," Erin announces in a low yet firm voice, and she tugs softly on Jay's hand as she steps forward. Offers Atwater a small smile of thanks as he pushes Ruzek and Dawson forward imploring them to head inside so he can talk to Herrmann about his latest social media venture for Molly's before things get busy.

"Night, Lindsay," Kevin adds as Erin slips past him, and she doesn't entirely miss the way his eyebrows pitch upward suggestively as Jay passes by Atwater behind her. Certainly doesn't miss the way Jay snaps out a "don't" in reply, or the way Jay's hand squeezes hers as he moves to stand next to her and the two them make their way down the sidewalk towards their cars.

"I'll talk to them," Jay promises over the sound of their heavy footfalls against the sidewalk and the single car - Burgess' car, she thinks based on a quick glance - slowly making its way up the street towards Molly's. And then he stills next to her, tugs on her hand and forces her to stop so that she has to look up at him as he promises, "We'll be professional at work. Keep our private lives private."

The noise of the crowd permeates the silence of the night as the door to the bar is swung open robbing Erin of the opportunity to do anything but nod her head in agreement. Her eyes shining bright and the smile on her lips a mere reflection of the look on his face as she squeezes his hand, as she tacks on a comment about how that discussion can wait till tomorrow.

"You still wanna call it an early night?" Jay questions softly, and she lets the smile fall from her face morphing into a look of contemplation because she can't resist the opportunity to tease him. To laugh at the way his brows furrow in confusion and then relax when he realizes what she's up to.

That had been her goal this morning, after all, when she told him that the couch was a one time deal. Again earlier tonight when she told him she was gonna call it an early night instead of joining him, Will, or the rest of the unit at Molly's to blow off some steam after closing the case.

"Hmm," she hums after a long pause sweeping her gaze upward to look at his before informing him that she hasn't eaten dinner yet. "Maybe we can get some takeout. Sit on my couch and watch a movie or something."

The last two words to tumble out of her mouth are said with a pitch eyebrow, and she grins as realization dawns across his face. As his own lips twist upward into a wide smile and he tugs on the fingers clasped in his hand while reaching into his coat pocket to retrieve his keys.

"Meet you back at your place?"

"That's where I live," she reminds him before giving him a questioning look and gesturing over her shoulder in the opposite direction from where she lives. "Unless you wanna go hang out at Voight's. You never did come over when I was living there."

"Yeah, well, Voight seems like a form over function kind of guy," Jay replies with a frown and a quick shake of his head. Erin's not entirely sure that's true, but she laughs over his stupid joke anyways pulling her hand from his and reaching into her pocket for her own set of keys. Tells him to be careful driving with a slight smirk as she makes her way over to her own car.

She'll give him a head start yet she'll probably beat him back to her place because it always takes him longer to drive someplace than it does her. But she's finally caught up on the head start he's had on her when it's come to them and being ready to go public. Finally held his hand in public and let their professional world know a bit about their personal lives. And as she slips into the driver's seat of her car and waits for Jay to finally pull out into the nonexistent traffic, she know she's ready for this. Ready for a little bit less professionalism when it comes to her partner and her house husband.


	7. A Lot of Maybes (3x07)

**Author's Note:** This chapter was probably the hardest to write because I loved "A Dead Kid, a Notebook, and a Lot of Maybes" (3x07) from beginning to end, especially the way the episode ends with Jay and Ethan talking. I'm not sure anything needed to be added to that episode, but I tried my best to put together a scene that fits within the direction of the show. Please feel free to share your thoughts, and a big thank you to those that already have.

* * *

His wallet is two business cards lighter - one for Ethan, one for Ethan's mom handed out with the promise that either of them can call him at anytime. Whether it's the middle of the night, or whether it's the middle of his shift. Whether Ethan's mom has questions about the support groups and the schools Jay mentioned to her, or whether Ethan just wants to grab a burger and talk.

It's one of the few cases that Jay wants to see to the end. Most of the unit's cases don't have living victims, and those that do, Erin usually walks through the next steps. Goes with them to met with Kot for the first time; handles their calls when they're freaking out thinking they can't testify. She has a way with connecting with victims that most of the unit lacks; gruffness, silence, and goofiness usually offputting to people who have been through major trauma and trying to come out the other side.

But this case? The loner getting into a bunch of fights at school and arguments with his teachers? The violent videogames on his computer and the thoughts of revenge? The whole thing was a reflection of what Jay used to be, of the daily events of his life from ages thirteen to seventeen, and he had volunteered to be the one to talk to Ethan. Told the unit that he'd see them tomorrow as he followed Ethan and his mom out of the district; told Ethan and his mom that he'd be there through every step of the court case against the swim coach.

Voight won't be happy when he finds out about this particular promise. The Chicago criminal justice is notoriously slow, and sitting down at the courthouse with Ethan could take him away from whatever case the unit lands next for days at a time. But Jay doesn't care what his sergeant might say about that promise at this point - not after listening to what happened to Ethan, not after learning Ethan also lost his dad in the war.

That last piece of information causes a sigh to fall from Jay's lips as he twists the key to his apartment in the lock of the front door. Tries to remind himself that his buddies made a sacrifice so he could be here to help kids like Ethan as he pushes open the door and steps into the apartment.

The television picture flickers as the news switches from covering the weather to progress on construction of the new emergency department over at Chicago Med, but Jay's view of the screen is cut off by Will shifting his position on the couch and turning to look at him.

"Hey," Will greets over the back of the couch before jamming a handful of cereal into his mouth. Crumbs and Lucky Charm marshmallows tumble from Will's mouth onto his t-shirt and the couch cushions beneath him, and Jay shakes his head in disgust at the sight as he kicks the door shut behind.

"I have bowls, you know," Jay reminds his older brother as he steps further into the apartment. He leans against the wall separating the kitchen from the living room, leans down to undo the laces of his boots.

"Yeah," Will concedes jamming his hand into the box of Lucky Charms again, "but all you've got is almond milk."

"You could buy your own milk," Jay informs him as he slips off his right boot and then his lift, carefully places them next to his running shoes so they form a neat line by the front door. "Or, better yet, find your own place."

Will makes his usual protestations about how he's working on it and how hard it is to find a place close enough to Med on a senior resident's salary. And Jay bites his tongue as he makes his way into the kitchen. Swallows back words about how much money Will could have saved up as a plastic surgeon back in New York if Will hadn't blown his salary on parties and models as he fishes out a beer from the fridge. He doesn't want to get into with his brother tonight. Wants to drink his beer, watch a documentary to make himself forget, and then get a couple hours of sleep in before Intelligence catches another case.

"Rough day?" Will questions sneaking up behind him in the kitchen. Jay spins around to face his brother, taps his finger against the top of the beer bottle as he moves to recline against the counter and slowly nods his head.

"Case involving some kids," Jay says as he cracks the lid off the beer bottle. He lifts the bottle to his lips, watches over the rim of the bottle as Will's features twist into a grimace.

"Nat-my coworker is a pediatrician, and I don't know how she does it working with kids all the time," his brother comments with a shake of his head, and Jay smirks against the lip of the bottle over the way his brother switches from using nicknames to professionalism. It's obvious his brother likes Natalie given the way he slips her name or something about her into every conversation, and Jay briefly considers giving his shit over it the same way Will used to tease him about Erin.

Still does, actually. Tells him that he doesn't see the point in getting a new apartment considering how Jay's always over at Erin's anyways. Asks him if kissing at Molly's still falls under professional behavior. But the conversation has moved forward without his input; Will slipping in some announcement about that explaining why Erin stopped by that causes the bottle to fall from Jay's lips and his eyes to widen.

"Erin came by?"

"Yeah, she came by like an hour or so ago. I told her you weren't here and she left," Will informs Jay in a tone of voice that makes it clear he doesn't understand why Jay is so surprised by this news. And Will's eyes soften with confusion as he watches Jay set aside his beer, reach into the pocket of his jeans, and fish out his cell phone.

"Figured you were probably headed to her place anyways," Will adds after a moment as he crosses his arms over his chest and offers Jay a knowing smirk.

A smirk that Jay misses as he clicks on his phone and sees the text he missed during his follow-up conversation with Ethan's mom about the next steps, about how what happened the Ethan is over now. Promised his mother that this wasn't her fault, that the best thing she can do for Ethan now is get him into talk to someone and into a new school where he can have a chance at making friends and starting over.

The text is short and simple - _skipping Molly's tonight_ \- but it opens up the door to multiple possibilities: him coming over to her place, her coming to his, him telling her not to skip because he'll see her there, her letting him have his space, them compromising on sharing a six pack over at the district or in the 300.

Or, at least, it did open up possibilities. Her text was sent nearly two hours ago, and he hesitates for a moment before tapping out a reply - _you still up?_ \- and sending it to her. He barely has time to click off the phone, to look up at his brother and see Will's stupid smirk widen as Jay's phone buzzes with her one word reply.

"Tell Erin I said hey," Will says as Jay steps past him heading towards the front door with his phone clutched in his hand. And as he slips on his boots, as he wrenches open the door to his apartment, Jay tells Will to clean up the smashed cereal and work on finding his own apartment to trash out.

"To invite Natalie over to," he adds under his breath as he shuts the door behind him and makes his way out of the apartment building towards his car.

Traffic this time of night is pretty light, and Jay is standing in front of Erin's front door before he knows it. He shifts his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other, second guesses his decision to come over here because the need for sleep is catching up with him and the desire not to talk about what happened today is growing stronger.

But this is Erin - his partner and his girlfriend and his confident who has always given him space when he needs it - and he raises his hand to knock lightly against her front door. One knock and then another before the door is wrenched open, before his eyes fall onto her standing before him in a t-shirt celebrating the grand reopening of Antonio's gym and the jeans she wore to work today.

"Hey," she says softly with a smile as she opens the door wider, and he echoes the greeting back to her. Shifts his weight once more as he waits for her to step aside, to invite him in. Her hand slips against his back - his muscles automatically clinching in response - when he finally does step into the apartment, and he can see her brows furrow in concern out the corner of his eyes as he moves past her.

The television screen mounted above her fireplace is paused on the picture of two penguins passing an egg between them, and he twists his head around to watch her walk down the small hallway into her living room with a small smile on his face.

"Thought you didn't like this documentary," he reminds her as she moves to stand next to him. Her arms are folded across her chest; her gaze shifting from him to the television screen as she hums noncommittally in response.

He'd tried to get her to watch this documentary with him two weeks ago on one of their rare Sundays off. But his plans for an informative Sunday morning were first interrupted by Erin complaining about how watching penguins transverse the Arctic was making her cold and then outright canceled by her falling asleep against him with her freezing cold hands pressed up against his side under the warm fabric of his hoodie.

"Needed something to help put me to sleep after today," she finally adds after a long pause, and Jay watches the concern seep into her eyes as she shifts her gaze back to him.

"Yeah," he agrees letting his own gaze fall to the hardwood floor. Jay rubs the palm of his right hand against the back of his neck, massages the aching muscles as Erin inquires how Ethan and his mom are doing. "He's one of the bravest people I've met. Going public like that?"

"Yeah," Erin agrees. Her words and the tone of her voice are an echo of his own. The understanding about the difficulties of today, about what it means to be a loner in private school with such a big secret seeping into both her voice and her gaze as she watches him.

" Voight won't be happy about this, but I promised Ethan and his mom that I'd go with them to the trial and-"

"Hank will deal," Erin tells him as she steps closer to him, as she places her hand against his arm and tugs so he stops mashing his fingers into the skin of his neck.

Her movements cause him to still, to lift his gaze and look at her as she promises that she'll cover for him. Call up Burgess from patrol if she needs to so he can be there to support Ethan. And he nods his head, mutters out soft words of thanks because this case was just-

His voice trails off much like it did earlier today when he asked her not to leave him alone with the swim coach and, once again, she reminds him that she's got him. Squeezes his arm as she asks him if he wants to talk about it; accepts his answer that he rather sit on the couch and watch penguins march across the Antarctic with her by letting go of his arm, walking over to the coffee table to pick up the remote, and flopping down onto couch without commentary or complaints.

Jay sits down next to her, loops his arm around her, and pulls her close when she shivers as they watch the penguins pass their eggs across the ice to one another. And for the next forty-five minutes, he focuses on enjoying sitting on the couch with his girl and trying not to think about the similarities between him and Ethan - the experiences in high school, the loss of people to war - as Erin's head sleepily lulls against his chest, as she presses her body up against his searching out his warmth.

Because maybe he may not be ready to tell her in detail about his time in high school or his time overseas, but he can share with her the movie that helped calm him down on the nights things got too hard to handle. Because maybe this - helping people like Ethan, leaning on his partner and his girl - is part of living his life in recognition of the sacrifice many of his friends made for him.


	8. Bone to Pick (3x08)

**Author's Note:** So my fun, post-3x08 date night fic went a totally opposite direction than I anticipated. I'm blaming my friend, who works as a social work, for allowing me to hash out what we know about Erin and Jay's histories with her. It maybe be a little more... _chatty_ than the show's direction has allowed, but I also don't think we'll ever get a scene like this so...Thoughts?

* * *

The gentle way her name is spoken pulls Erin from her thoughts, from focusing on the waitress stuffing her order pad into the pocket of her black apron as she greets her newly seated customers in the corner. And her gaze shifts from over Jay's shoulder to look directly at him, to see the look of puzzlement on his face partially obscured by the half-eaten chicken wing he holds in front of his lips.

"Did you want something else?" Jay questions backtracking on his earlier statement to the waitress that they're both doing okay. No refills needed; no desire to put in for another order of wings just yet. An involuntary smile spreads across Erin's face when she spies the red-orange sauce spread across his cheeks, and she reaches for the roll of paper towels on the table next to their communal plate of wings.

"Yeah, a paper towel," she replies tearing off a paper towel and holding it out to him. "For the three-year-old I'm having dinner with."

"Hey," he protests dropping the wing onto his own plate and accepting the paper towel from her outstretched hand. The wipe of the paper towel across his face muffles most of his words, but she catches enough of them to know he's protesting about how difficult wings are to eat without getting messy.

"That's because you nibble at them," Erin points out with a look towards the smaller plate in front of him. He's eaten more of than his fair share of wings tonight, but most of the bones on his plate are still covered in a decent amount of meat. Certainly far more than has been left on the four or five bones sitting on her plate, which have been completely stripped clean.

"Watch," she tells him reaching to grab one of the wings from the communal plate in front of them both. Erin pops the whole thing into her mouth keeping her fingers tight around one end as her teeth clamp down, and then she pulls. The meat slides easily off the bone; the hot sauce and the cayenne peppers setting her mouth and then her throat on fire as she swallows.

The rather triumphant way she holds up the bare bones of the chicken wing are meet by Jay's chuckle of laughter, by the way he tries to hide his mirth behind his hand. The look is reminiscent of the one he gave her earlier tonight when he leaned back his chair and tried to hide his humor over the numbers scrawled across his notepad with his hand, and Erin's left eyebrow pitches upward in a silent question over what he finds so funny as she drops the chicken bones onto the top of the small pile on the plate in front of her.

"You just crammed a chicken wing into your mouth. Whole. Didn't know you could do that," Jay replies with a bit of marvel to his tone, with smirky eyes that shift rather suggestively from her lips to his lap. It takes a moment for things click, for her to realize where his thoughts have gone. And her mouth parts slightly and her head rears backwards as she realizes why exactly he's looking at her that way.

"I told you I don't do that," she hisses at him squaring off her shoulders and adopting a defensive position. One foot tapping against the side of her chair ready to flee; two eyes boring into his with an unwavering glare because she can't believe he'd bring this up now. Not here in the middle of a crowded sports bar after a long shift chasing down a murdered and missing military chips. Not when she's already this made this clear to him when it's been just the two of them on her couch, when he's tried to guide her down there.

"And if that's something you want," Erin continues dropping her gaze from his down to the plate in front of her. Her gravelly voice becomes rougher as she forces herself to push out the words, to give him another opportunity to take an out that was offered to him earlier today. "Then you can call that lawyer and-"

"I tore that phone number up," Jay interrupts, and Erin bobs her head up and down in recognition of what he's saying. She was there; she saw the way he looked at her. And she knows there was no hesitation on his part as he moved to tear up that piece of paper. That he dropped it into the trashcan beside his desk along with a to-go cup of coffee and a broken pen when he finished his paperwork and prepared to clear out for the night.

But she also knows that taking on her and the holes she digs and the banana peels she slips on means giving up certain activities that were part of his past. Activities that he clearly expected given the way he tried to her to guide her down there before she told him no; activities that clearly still spring to his mind when he watches her do something as mundane as eat a chicken wing.

"And I'm not asking you to do that right now," Jay continues in a low voice as he leans across the table towards her, as he tries to establish some kind of privacy for them in this semi-crowded restaurant. "I-"

"It's never happening, Jay," Erin hisses back at him as she leans back in her chair. She immediately crosses her arms across her chest adopting that hard, emotionless look her face that really complicates the whole nature versus nurture debate because it makes her look a bit like Voight, and that comparison makes Jay shift uncomfortably in his chair.

It's the kind of squirm she sees from him every now and then when he's weighing the pros and cons of going up against Voight, of injecting his own morality into the very grey area that the Intelligence Unit operates in. And she watches the determination in his gaze soften into something else, into a look she's only a handful of times in the years that she's known him.

The first time being when he found her file and connected dots that didn't exist to put together an explanation that mischaracterized who Voight is to her and painted her as something she's not. The most recent time being now because Jay's a pretty astute detective - even if he is a pretty crappy driver - and he's walked the beat and worked enough cases with SVU out of New York, including one about her own brother, to start connecting those dots again. To put together a narrative about her past that she's not ready to touch upon right now in the middle of dinner. Probably not ever really gonna be ready to hash out over chicken wings, beer, and French fries.

And maybe he gets that, or maybe his resignation his due to the fact there are parts of his past that he doesn't want to talk about with her, that she doesn't push him on. Either way, that look slides off Jay's face and his shoulders slump slightly as he shifts in his chair again. As he moves back into a more relaxed position on his stool and reaches for a chicken wing from the shared plate in front of them; as he whispers out a barely audible, conciliatory "okay".

He holds the chicken wing up to her before mimicking the way she popped the whole thing into her mouth, and he manages to keep his fingers clamped tightly around one end as he bites down. But something goes wrong - either he bit down too hard or not hard enough - and Jay ends up sputtering out bits of meat and bone onto his plate, which in turn forces Erin to relax. To uncross her arms and reach for another paper towel; to fight against the smile that's tugging the corners of her mouth upward in response to the petulant look on Jay's face as he runs the paper towel she offers him across his face.

"Maybe you should stick with the French fries tonight," Erin says as she leans forward in her seat and nudges the small basket of French fries on the table to her right towards him. "And order the chicken tenders next time."

"Do they come in the shapes of dinosaurs here?" Jay sasses back, and Erin gives into that smile with a roll of her eyes because he's never gonna let her live that one down. She had been exhausted from chasing down the crew that ripped off Oxy from a string of pharmacies in the city, and the last thing she had wanted to do was spend more than fifteen minutes at the grocery store.

Had thrown in the first box of chicken nuggets she found in the frozen foods section into her basket - dinosaur shapes and high sodium content, be damned - and gone off to find his stupid almond milk in the health nut section of the grocery store because he grumbles about there only being skim milk for his coffee in the mornings after he stays over. Had arrived back her place to find him waiting for her - Voight having finally signed off on his paperwork - with hands readily available to help her unload the grocery and a brain stuffed with more than a few facts about dinosaurs and jokes about her eating habits that he readily shared with her when he found the box of frozen nuggets in one of the plastic bags.

"Why?" Erin questions with a teasing smile. "You gonna tell the cook that their byrantasaurus is the wrong shape?"

"Byrantasaurus?" Jay echos, and Erin knows immediately that she's probably in for spending the rest of the night watching Nova documentaries on PBS about dinosaurs based on the wide eyed look that Jay's giving her. Feels almost kind of relieved when her cell phone buzzes against the top of the table, when she looks over and sees a message from Voight flashing across the screen.

 _FD called. Head dumped in river._

"Caught a case?" Jay questions, and Erin can hear the disappointment in his voice. He knew before she agreed to come out with him tonight that she was on call with Voight tonight, that there was always a chance she's get called in. And she wonders if his disappointment has to do with him hoping he'd get to watch a documentary with her after dinner or, maybe, him hoping that they get back to his place and he could bring up what she shot down only a couple of minutes ago.

Because she knows Jay; knows that he's dropped the conversation but his mind hasn't stopped turning over all the possibilities and trying to find a story that makes sense. It is, after all, what she does with him, with the tidbits of information she gleans about his past from comments Will and Mouse make and those off the cuff ones Jay lets slips out.

Either way, he accepts that she has to go with a nod of his head and a rather disapproving look when she moves to pull out her wallet followed by an assertion that he's got this that forces her to slip her wallet back into the pocket of her coat. And she watches him twist around in his seat in search of the waitress as she pulls on her coat; catches sight of something - Concern? Anxiety? Hurt? - in his eyes.

But her phone is buzzing in her hand - Hank demanding to know if she's showing up for work or not - and she has no choice but to slip away with a promise that she'll see him tomorrow. To push past those waiting for a table at the entrance of the sports bar; to step out into the chilly night air and send Voight a quick text that she'll meet him at the district.

She gets halfway to the parking lot where the 300 is parked when she hears heavy footsteps behind her, when her body becomes rigid and defensive as her instincts kick in. And Erin turns to see Jay walking towards her, catches the concern and the hesitation in his eyes when the light of the street lamps hit him just right. When he comes to stand before her and doesn't laugh or smile when she asks if she needs to arrest him for dining and dashing; when his gaze shifts from her to the cement sidewalks and back again as he weighs his words.

"What you said about how you don't do _that_ ," Jay rushes out in a single breath. The comment causes Erin to frown because she doesn't want to have this conversation - not standing here on the sidewalk, not when a body's dropped and Voight's waiting for her - and she thought he got that. And so she tries to cut the conversation off, tries to stop his line of questioning before it can begin. But Jay is Jay, and he's like a dog with a bone that doesn't always know when to drop it.

"You've joked before about me being that guy. About me being a dog," Jay reminds her, and Erin has to wrack her brain to recall what he's talking about because she was right about him sleeping with that bartender, right about that "some girl" he knows being more. "But I'm not that guy, Erin. I'm not. And if you feel like I'm - like I'm treating you like...that-"

"Jay," Erin interrupts reaching out to curl her hand around his arm, to get him to stop mid-sentence and listen to her because she knows he's not that guy. Tells him such as she explains that they really would have been a one time thing, if he turned out to be. Certainly not the one time a day - or, week, if a case gets in the way - thing they have been.

"But I need you to understand that I don't do _that_. And if that's a dealbreaker, if that's something you need, then-"

"I tore that phone number up," Jay repeats again. He's starting to sound like a broken record, but Erin also thinks she gets why he keeps saying it. Because they aren't a place where he can say something else without it making her feel like this is moving too fast; because she hasn't been able to call him 'babe' yet without pretending it was some sleep-deprived mistake. "Okay?"

"Okay," she agrees as the phone in her free hand begins to buzz again. Hank's calling her this time - probably going to grumble about unit cohesion and distractions at her all night, if she doesn't answer him soon - and so Erin squeezes Jay's arm.

Moves up to her tiptoes to press her lips to the corner of his mouth and then gets stuck because Jay has wrapped his arms around her. Because Jay's being the polar opposite of _that_ guy: accepting the boundaries she's set, and letting her go when she squirms in his arms, and then smiling like the cat that ate the canary - like she smiled at him when he tore up that phone number in front of her - when she says, "If Hank says we can let this wait until morning, I'll swing by your place later, babe."


	9. Could Have Said (3x09)

**Author's Note:** Thank you all for your feedback, particularly on the last chapter, and your patience between updates. This update is tagged to 3x09, "Never Forget I Love You", and is slotted in between Erin following the lawyer outside the district and her conversation with Voight at Molly's.

* * *

His fingers rub against the temple of his forehead, skim against his hairline as he listens to the acidic words she's slinging at him. Misdirected words because he understands that the victim was pregnant, understands that her body was desecrated and handled like she and her baby were garbage, understands that she and her baby and her sister deserve justice. Not the street justice being doled out by the Outfit, but real justice - the kind of justice the badge clipped to both of their hips is supposed to represent.

"You could have said something," she hisses. She refuses to lift her gaze, refuses to look away from the amber colored liquid in her glass. And his own gaze shifts to watch the liquid swirl as she lifts the glass, as she swallows back some of the liquid.

Some. Thankfully, not all.

"You could have called him out," she pointedly - sharply - informs him as she sets the glass back down on the counter, and he scoffs at that. Fails to keep that hiss of dismissive laughter behind gritted teeth so that her gaze shifts towards him.

The piercing, almost incredulously look she gives him causes his fingers to fall from his forehead. He adjust his position slightly on the barstool, loops his foot around one of the legs as he shifts forward.

"He's my boss, Erin," Jay reminds her as though this should be a no brainer for her, but the pitch of her eyebrows in reply makes it clear that it isn't. That she still thinks he can go up against Voight at every turn.

"That hasn't stopped you in the past," she reminds him, and the twist of her mouth into a smirk makes it clear that she thinks he's getting stupid on her. That she's remembering all the times he's come to her asking if Voight is dirty, if he's made something disappear to cover for his son or his unit or whoever it is that Voight's in bed with.

But he's only got so much capital, so much he can expend on fighting Voight's edicts before he ends up, at best, back in gangs and, at worst, riding a desk in some district or up in the Ivory Tower where he won't see action. Won't get to follow through on his promises to the victim's sister that they're gonna find out whoever murdered her sister; won't get to occupy the grey territory that scares some cops off and gets other to cross a line but, ultimately, means he's protecting this city the best way he can.

Voight wants to take justice into his own hands and dump a suspect into Lake Michigan alive? Voight wants to send someone down to Stateville or Joliet for a crime he clearly didn't commit? He'll say something; he'll walk down to the docks or storm into Voight's office.

But that - the blood on the unit's hands, the falsified confessions in order to boost closure rates - didn't happen here. And maybe that's because Erin pushed him or cause Voight wouldn't put up being played even by the Outfit, but Charlie Koslo wouldn't be doing a stint for the Outfit's crimes and the evidence they had on Sheltie was circumstantial at best and-

His vocalized reminders of these facts are rejected with a scoff and a shake of her head. With the hissed assertion for the umpteenth time today that they had him followed by added words that justice at the hands of Outfit isn't covered by the badges they wear or fair to the city they both swore to protect.

"We had him," she repeats again raising the glass to her lips. And she chugs back another drink of the amber colored liquid as he nods, as he releases his grip around the rapidly warming bottle of beer in his right hand and shifts it to his left.

Jay's eyes dart left and right down the length of the bar to front door of Molly's before he reaches out to skim his fingers against her elbow because they're public and private, because they're mingling professional arguments with the personal touches he usually saves for her apartment or his. For nights at Molly's when they're just hanging out and shooting the breeze after work rather than hashing out arguments that are only partially about him.

And the touch causes her gaze to shift towards him so she's peering out of the side of her glass at him, so she's watching him with hesitant eyes as he nods his head in agreement. As he reiterates that he knows, that he agrees Jim Sheltie should be going down to Stateville for what he did.

"But I don't get to talk to Voight like you do, Erin."

"I don't talk to him any differently than anyone else," she sasses back, and Jay can't help but scoff in reply. Rolls his head backwards and gives her a pointed look because no way is that true.

If Ruzek or Atwater talked to Voight they way she does, they'd be down working traffic duty with the patrol cops before either of them could finish talking. If he or Antonio called Voight out on how he's handling a case, they'd get tossed out of Voight's office and reminded that they're in this unit on his say as their first strike. But Antonio's probably getting close to his third strike and Jay's being toying the line of Hank's respect for his morals for over a year now.

About the only one who comes close to getting away with the undermining and the comments that Erin does is Al. But Voight and O have got a long history - one just as complex as Erin and Hank's.

"Yeah, you do," Jay informs her, and he can't help but toss in some teasing words about Voight being her dad because it gets a rise out of her. Because it gets her to put down that glass and drop her hand by her side in her rush to remind him that Voight's not her dad.

Except he is, and they both know it. Know that Hank maneuvering to protect the Outfit rather than the city as he taught her and the disappointment that comes with him sidelining her, with him not measuring up to the hero she's crafted in her head is what's eating her tonight. That Erin sees Hank as the kind of cop who operates in the grey to protect victims - and people like her who don't see themselves as victims - and she doesn't like the idea of Hank working to protect Outfit or any other criminal element.

He doesn't like it, either. Didn't like seeing that lawyer walk out of the district; didn't like knowing what the Outfit was probably up to when he walked into the bullpen and saw Carlo Tafani sitting in Voight's office. But he's watched enough late night documentaries and TV doctors to be able to call a spade a spade, to know why this is so personal for Erin.

And he's also been around her enough to know not to psychoanalyze her aloud, to say this to her when she's already still so fired up. So, instead, he focusing on what he is allowed to say. That she knows he doesn't always agree with Voight's methods; that she knows he's not shy about voicing his disapproval when it matters most.

"This girl mattered, Jay. Her baby mattered."

"They did," he agrees softly and, for the first time that night, the noise of the bar begins to seep into their conversation as he pauses. As Jay sets his empty beer bottle on the counter and moves his right hand from where it rests against his thigh to brush against her hand, to curl around her fingers and give them a gentle squeeze.

"But if we kept going after that lawyer and the Outfit, who's to say they wouldn't have targeted Charlie or the sister? That Voight hadn't already been warned about that?"

The question causes her brows to furrow, and he can tell by the slight slouch in her posture that she's processing - and not entirely rejecting - what he's suggesting. And then she gives him that look - the warning on about him getting stupid on her - as she twists in her seat and expresses shock that Jay Halstead is defending Hank Voight. To her.

"This doesn't mean I'm watching the Hawks game at his house," he interjects because while he has more than a little bit of respect for Voight, he's not interesting in mixing the professional and personal with him. Not interesting in feeling Voight's hard gaze on him when he's supposed to be relaxing.

And Erin sort of crinkles her face and rears backwards from him over the comment. Offers him a smirk when she asks what makes him think he's invited only to snort out a single laugh when Jay tips his head downward and reminds her that he did get Hank's blessing.

"Can I get you another one?" The bartender - one of the swing shift ones who covers when Herrmann or Gabby or Otis are on shift - interrupts as he mosey on down the bar towards them and scoops up Jay's empty beer bottle.

"Uh," Jay strings together as his gaze shifts from Erin to the bartender and back again. Squeezes Erin's fingers when she says that they're good, that they're gonna head out soon.

"I'll close out your tab," the bartender replies before moving down towards the register, before Jay slides off his barstool and releases her fingers as he moves to stand.

"I'm gonna hit the head and then we can go, okay?" Jay says with a jerk of his thumb over his shoulder towards the bathrooms.

And Erin tipping her still half-full glass with her free hand to show him that there's no rush. That she's like to stew a bit more on her frustration and his suggestion and the reversal in their roles when it comes to supporting Hank.

Jay nods his head before walking away, and Erin shifts her concentration from his departing form to the glass in front of her. Watches the liquid swirl just like the thoughts in her head and the still simmering anger in her chest so intently that she nearly jumps when someone bumps into her from behind, when she hears that familiar gravelly voice say, "Excuse me."


	10. Brothers in Trout (3x10)

**Author's Note:** Nick Gehlfuss recently did an interview where he said the animosity between Will and Jay is now gone and much of how Will was introduced on PD won't be revisited because it doesn't jive with his characterization on Med. This is my attempt to reconcile that with what we've seen on screen. This scene is set in "Now I'm God" (3x10) during the same time as when Voight and Erin are talking about Camille and the dress she bought Erin.

* * *

Jay runs his fingernail under the label wrapped around the beer bottle pushing and crinkling the words on the label until they become illegible. Until the paper begins to disintegrate into tiny chunks that fall onto the top of the bar's counter. With the back of his left hand, he sweeps the scraps of paper into a single pile trying to cut down on the amount of work he'll be leaving behind for one of Molly's bartenders.

Most of the firemen over at Fifty-One have left for the night. Headed out to switch out on watching Herrmann's kids - Mouch offering to cover Jay's tab for a week and put in a good with with Platt if he'd cover the one shift Mouch ended up with where Annabelle is bound to be asleep - or to get some Zzzs in before shift tomorrow.

And those from the district that followed him over to Molly's threw a twenty or a C-note into the boot for Herrmann by the door and split. The caseload - a string of robberies in the district, what happened here to Herrmann, Intelligence's poisoned cancer victims - weighing too heavily on all of them to hang around Molly's for too long.

Jay realizes that he probably should have stuck closer to the district tonight. Sat downstairs in the Mouse Hole and kicked back a few beers there instead of being here alone tonight. But Mouse's helping Erin - scanning in Reybold's shredded records and electronically stitching them together - and he doesn't want to distract from that. Doesn't want Mouse giving him that look and trying to bring up the past over and over until Jay ends up snapping at him.

And, besides, Voight had made it pretty clear that while his edict for the unit to clear out of the pen excluded Erin, it definitely applied to Jay. Erin offering him a small, tight lipped smile when Jay skimmed his fingers across the fake wooden lacquer of her desk - Voight staring him down from the doorway of his office - and waited to see if she would give herself a break. Come out for a drink at Molly's or sit on the couch at his place nursing a six pack and watching a documentary with him or get in a few jabs over at Antonio's gym.

But he also got it - that incessant need to spend her off hours combing through Reybold's records and trying a find a way to nail the scumbag - because in those moments when the unit figured out what Reybold was doing, when he dragged Erin out his office and listened to her go off about Camille and doctors and cancer in the elevator, his own panic had started to blindside him. His mind racing to list out all the doctors he remembers his mom seeing; his fingers twitching towards his cell phone wondering if he should put in a call to his dad to confirm.

Not that his dad would know anything given how he buried his head so deep in the sand and then kept up appearances even as he was fucking around on Mom. But the bills had still come - doctors' names and visits listed out like a shopping list - and Jay knew they were probably still stuffed in the junk drawer in the kitchen.

His dad too busy keeping up with the Jonses to bother paying them; his mom not around to keep track of their finances and squirrel away what she can without Dad knowing. Money so her boys can participate in No Uniform Fridays at parochial school or to pay for Jay's ER visit after another fight with Marcus Cusick or bus fare up to Wisconsin so he and Will could get some time in with Grandpa up at the cabin. Get out of the house when Dad got in one of his moods where Jay couldn't do anything right.

Except Elizabeth Halstead hadn't been listed amongst Reybold's patients - one of the few saving graces in his mother's life - whereas Camille Voight was, and so Jay had backed off. Tried to let her know that he was there if she wanted, but that he wasn't going to push her to talk it through with him. To hash out memories they both share about their moms - because he doesn't care what Bunny or Erin say about who her mom is, Hank and his wife are the ones that raised her - when they haven't even started unpacking the other more pressing aspects of their relationship. When he hasn't really told Erin much about his mom other than the fact that she's gone and that the motorcycle print above his bed - the only part of his apartment Erin actually likes - was a birthday present from her.

A consolation prize to make up for the fact that Will got a car when he turned sixteen, but their dad didn't think Jay was ready for that kind of responsibility. A gift Jay had rejected outright and then later found carefully wrapped up in the back of his parents' closet after his mom passed, after his dad gripped at him a mere week and a half after the funeral to come grab what he wanted of his mom's before it all got tossed or donated. A far cry from Voight's house - the little he had seen of it - where it looked like nothing had been moved or changed or nearly a decade. Long still, if you took into account the rattling window Erin complained about when she was back living with Hank a few months back.

That particular thought - and the recognition that there are still gonna be some things about Erin's life where Voight's gonna be the one to have her back that accompanies it - sends his nail digging even deeper into the label until the final scrap of paper peels off in one long ribbon. Curls around his thumb and distracts him the approaching footsteps behind him.

"No Erin tonight?" His brother questions as he slides onto the barstool next to him, and Jay sort of bristles at the insinuation. Twists his head to look over his shoulder and glances from his brother to the front door of the nearly empty bar.

"No Natalie tonight?" Jay questions with a raised eyebrow, with a teasing tone to his voice that sounds pretty damn forced. He hasn't seen Will since his brother had the gall to get pissed at him for doing him a favor, for putting his badge on the line to pass along sensitive materials from a police investigation. And he's not really in the mood to deal with Will tonight. Not when he's worried about his partner; not when he's trying to disassociate all those women coming into the district to be interview from what happened to their mom.

But Will is Will, and his uncanny ability to slip out of everything unscathed and without noticing the wreckage around him is rearing its head again as he choses to ignore - or just don't register - the tone of Jay's voice. Flags down the bartender to order another round as he explains that a woman due any day now probably isn't interested in whittling away the days before her due date at a bar. Too busy nesting or something.

"Nesting?" Jay questions as the bartender slides another bottle of beer in front of him. The one he had been nursing - his second of the night - is still half full, but Jay still reaches for the new one. It's colder. Less picked over.

"Yeah, you know, when you start preparing for the baby. Nat's got the crib up, but there's still the bassinet and all the clothes to sort through. And I'm gonna head over there next weekend. Help assembly the mobile I got her," Will informs him after taking a swig of his beer, and Jay nearly chokes on the half that he knocks back in the time it takes his brother to lay out his plans because it still surprises him that his brother - the partier, the avoider - is so into someone like Natalie. Someone who's got a lot a responsibility on her shoulders; someone who he wouldn't have expected to be into his brother.

But Jay's also seen them together. At work, mainly, but enough to know that Will's eyes follow Natalie wherever she goes and Natalie is, at least, interested in what his brother is saying about her. That the charge nurse - Maggie, he thinks - has picked up on exactly what Jay's seen given the looks they traded after his interaction with Natalie over her specialization a few weeks back.

And whereas he would have told his brother to step off a few weeks ago, to leave a grieving war widow alone because it's the respectful and responsible thing to do, Jay's largely left it alone. Ribbed his brother every now and then, but also recognized that whatever Will's got going on with Natalie is helping him straighten out. Become Mister Dependable and the older brother that Will never was. Become the kind of guy that Jay's willing to pull information from an active investigation for.

Of course, that had blown up in his face. Not with those up in the Ivory Tower, thankfully, but with his brother enough that he's seriously contemplating telling his brother to find somewhere else to sit. Because he's not in the mood to talk tonight with the guy who wasn't there when Mom was dying. Who would have zero idea if their mom was a patient of Reybold's or not unless he used his credentials to access Med's old records.

"Here," Will interrupts setting a red and white cooler onto the counter in front of his brother. And Jay shifts his gaze from the cooler to his brother, shifts his attention from an old wound festering and stirring up animosity to the object of dubious origins in front of him.

"That better not be transplant organs," Jay hisses because the cooler looks exactly like the ones he's seen carried through Chicago Med. A kidney for the woman who shared a hospital room with their mom; a liver for a stabbing victim from last month. And Will pulls a face, laughs as he takes another swig before tapping the side of the cooler.

"It's the trout I owe you. I know we said two pounds smoked from Calumet's, but I wasn't sure if Erin prefers it grilled like Nat so..." Will trails off tapping the cooler again, and Jay merely nods his head. Shifts his gaze back to unpicked label of the new beer bottle in his hand because he figured the trout trade had been forgotten in their fight.

And because he doesn't know how Erin likes her trout. Kind of wanted to introduce her to the whole trout dinner thing he did as a kid up at the cabin before taking her to Calumet's, although he doesn't know when that opportunity will come up. Not with the way she's burying herself into this case. Not with the way it's stirring up things for him.

So a long pause and heavy silence fills the space between them as Will knocks back his bottle of beer and as Jay picks at the new label. A silence that ends with Jay fighting against the smile that tugs at the corner of his lips as Will asks him if he remembers how much Mom loved Calumet's. How Dad would begrudgingly drive them over to that hole-in-the-wall place after mass on Friday nights during Lent because Mom loved it so much.

Truth is, Jay's isn't sure how much Mom loved Calumet's or Mom just loved doing something that her boys loved. It was a place Grandpa introduced them to as the best place in Chicago for trout before he retired full time out to the cabin. A place their dad sure as hell hated because he wasn't getting facetime in with the parish at the Friday Fish Fry. Putting on that perfect appearance and drumming up business for himself.

But it had been the last place Mom took him before he reported for boot camp. The last time she looked healthy - if not, happy - to him. And that's one of the few pre-war, pre-cancer memories he's allowed him to dwell on over the years.

"I just can't imagine, you know?" Will questions pulling Jay from his thoughts. He wonders briefly if he missed something, if his brother's been talking without Jay noticing. But both Halstead brothers have a tendency to drop into a conversation mid-thought - something that's largely been drilled out of Jay over his years in the Rangers and then with CPD - and Jay's nail digs deeper into the label as Will continues talking. "These women have been coming in Med for weeks now. Some of them lost limbs, organs to chemo they didn't need for cancer they didn't have."

"Yeah," Jay mumbles as the label peels off into a ribbon of paper that lands just south of the neat pile he's made, and he once again sweeps the back of his left hand against the counter to push the paper into a single pile. Not going to be the guy that trashes out Herrmann's bar while he's still recuperating.

"If that had been Mom," Will adds after a moment, and Jay cannot surprise the chuckle that escapes. The anger that flashes in his eyes as his gaze darts over towards Will.

"You have been there?"

The acidic comment momentarily stuns Will, and Jay watches as his brother begins to mimic his motions. Will's gaze shifting to the beer bottle in his hand; Will's nail driving into the label so the Surgeon General's warning becomes an illegible, crumpled mess. And Jay knocks back the final swig of his beer as he shakes his head side to side, as the silence and the animosity between them becomes even more pronounced.

"I should have been there," Will agrees after a moment. "I should have been there when Mom was sick and when you came home."

"But," Jay adds picking up on the way Will's voice trails and giving his brother the opportunity to do what he always does - avoid, make excuses, lay the blame at someone else's feet. But Will just shakes his head, refuses to expand further on the reasons why he couldn't be there. All the excuses - that he was busy getting established in his practice, that Dad never let him know how bad it was, that Jay left too - going unrepeated for once in his life.

"I'm trying not to be that guy anymore," Will eventually adds after he's torn most of the label from his beer bottle. The tiny pieces of paper in front him scattered across the bar like a poor man's confetti as Will sits up a little straighter, as he looks Jay in the eye and repeats it again.

"For Natalie?" Jay questions because that would be typical of Will. Change himself to get in with some girl and then be unable to keep up with the farce after a while.

"For my friend, yeah," Will replies. "But also for my patients and my dad and, more importantly, for my little brother. Because I fucked up a lot with him. Let him go through a lot of stuff without his big brother that I shouldn't have. And I don't want to do that anymore."

"Hmm," Jay noncommittally grunts out, but he also nods his head. Recognizes that Will has been trying over the last couple of months. Registers the fact that Will - not Mouse - was the one person he talked to when Erin took her sabbatical, as she calls it.

Realizes that he needs someone to talk to about Mom - about the way Elizabeth Halstead was before the doctors found her stage four colon cancer - for the exact same reason Hank kicked him out of the bullpen and Erin let him go tonight. Becauses those memories are something only they share, something he can't continue to suppress if he wants to make it through this case.

And he's about to take Will up on that, share some silly memory about Mom to smooth things over because, frankly, he's tired of the animosity between them when he feels his phone buzz in his pocket. It takes him a moment to fish it out of his jacket - the quickly drowned beers contributing to the lethargy of his movements - but the flash of Erin's name across the screen sobers him up, and he takes the call without hesitation. Promises he'll be down to the district - will walk, if he has to - when she explains that the ADA might have found some way to nail Reybold.

But before Jay can hang up the phone and explain that he needs to go, Will is already standing up, fishing a couple of bills from his wallet and tossing them on the bar without hesitation. Announces that he'll drop Jay off at the district and hold onto the trout until Jay can swing by and pick it up later.

"Or," Jay offers as he quickly heads towards the door. Will right on his heels behind him. "You can cook that trout while you're nesting with Natalie this weekend, and then you and me can hit up Calumet's later. Get that two pounds of smoked trout you owe me."

"Alright," Will agrees as the two step out of the bar onto the dark street, and he gestures towards where his car is parked down the road. Flashes Jay a cheeky grin as he adds, "But only if you bring Lindsay. She's probably gonna need some trout from Calumet's after this case."

"Yeah," Jay murmurs in agreement.

"And, besides, I got a lot of stories about my baby brother to share with her," Will informs him as he walks around the car to the driver's side. "Especially the ones about you acting out scenes from 'The Brady Bunch'. As Alice."

"Come on, man," Jay protests as he wrenches open the door to the passenger's seat. "That's messed up."

"Yeah, well, I don't want to shirk my duties as a big brother any more. So we'll get some trout and make her wonder why she's dating you. Maybe I'll even bring that baby book filled with pictures Mom made for you."


	11. Cathartic Cap (3x11)

Author's Note: This scene is set at the end of 3x11, "Knocked the Family Right Out", which I thought was one of the better episodes this season until 3x14 negated everything that happened in it. Oh, CPD and your consistency issues.

* * *

She tugs the collar of her coat against her neck as the front door of the Cliffords' condo clicks shut, and she waits for the telltale thump of the deadbolt being thrown behind her before she steps away from the front door. Tugs even harder at the collar of her coat as she lets her eyes sweep over the neighborhood. Contemplates the mismatch between the tranquil streets and the shattered little girl in the house behind her, the gentrified condominium development and the crime wave that struck here the other night.

She's worked the beat long enough to know that no one - regardless of wealth, race, gender - is immune from being the victim of a crime, but that's a hard reality for a fourteen-year-old girl to face. Hard enough for a thirty-year-old cop who was gullible enough to believe Tawny, to think that people would physically fake a rape in order to cover up for their accomplices. Because Erin's seen a lot - _done_ a lot - but that? That's hard to fathom.

Which is exactly what Tawny and Spence and Pete had been counting out. The reason why she went in without backup; the reason why she ended up with a thudding headache and a knife to her throat.

She had felt the Cliffords' gaze on her throat as she bid them goodnight, but she hadn't been willing to answer their unspoken questions. Didn't want to burden them with anything more than what they already carry - the little girl seeking refuge in the guest bedroom because she's too afraid to sleep amongst her dolls - and instead reiterated her promise that the man who hurt their daughter wasn't going to hurt anyone else. That they or Carolyn could call her anytime - day or night.

Because that - being someone's support during the worst moment of their life - and the mark against her throat are the burdens she agreed to carry the day they pinned her star on her chest. The burden Hank had tried to warn her about the day she told him and Camille that she wanted to be a cop, and then, of course, the burden she had to decide she was ready to carry - _needed_ to carry - the day Hank gave her her star back.

It's a burden she should know by now that she doesn't need to carry alone, that she's got Hank and the unit and Jay to lean on. And a mental reminder that clicks in her head as her eyes sweep from the quiet sidewalks to the 300 parked across the street where Jay sits patiently waiting in the passenger seat.

His hunched over posture gives her pause - she's been on edge all afternoon - but he soon shifts in his seat, and she can tell from his movements and the slope of his back that he's mess around with his phone. Probably texting Will or checking the Hawks' score or trying to convince Mouse to leave his hole for the night and come out to Molly's.

And, eventually, he lifts his head sweeping his gaze across the cityscape because he's a cop and he's vigilant and he's her backup. Taking on the role even during something as simple and mundane as a follow-up visit with the victim.

Erin had agreed to him accompanying her after he silently followed her out of the break room, after she noticed his hand instinctively curling around the jacket draped over the back of his chair as she gathered up her keys and stuffed some of that untouched paperwork into the drawer of her desk, which she'd get to it eventually. Didn't need Hank nosing around the bullpen after the unit had gone home and then getting on her case about it first thing in the morning.

But she had drawn the line at Jay coming into the Cliffords' house with her. Had told him to wait in the car without a backwards glance because she didn't want to see that look on his face. The look that said he was riddled with an anxiety and fear that he's desperately trying to suppress behind stern features and a smooth nod of his head.

The one he gave her when he pulled her off that bed and directed her attention away from the body behind them by pressing his fingers against her throat. The stinging sensation, the way he kept clutching at her neck reminding her just how close she had been to becoming another name on the wall out in front of the District hung up right next to Jules and Jin and Nadia.

The one he gave her in the break room as he lectured her about going in without backup. A different kind of lecture than the ones she gets from Hank because there's no yelling or words being spat out in anger. Just soft yet piercing eyes and a firm pled for her to understand that he cares, that seeing her strung out or tied up or in a bad way is really fucking hard for him to handle. Which maybe means they're inching too close to the sole reason why Hank doesn't allow in-house romances.

Not close enough that they need to separate, drag Hank into a conversation about their relationship and their careers right now. After all, she still managed to rattle off the location of the suspects and he had clued in Antonio before they got wrapped up in one another. Before Jay's hand was back on her neck and he was cupping her cheek trying to make sure that she was okay.

But that conversation for one day is probably getting closer than she originally anticipated given the way her mind had raced to him when she was pinned down with a knife against her throat. Given the looks - the 'I messed up and I'm sorry' meeting the 'You had me worried there for a sec' - they traded in the break room. Given the way Jay is watching her now as she makes her way towards the Chrysler because that's not the look of a concerned partner but rather of a _partner_ partner. The kind of look that tugs the corners of her mouth upward as she yanks open the door.

"You good?" Jay questions over the beeping sound as she slides into the driver's seat. She left the keys in the ignition for him just incase he got cold and wanted to turn on the heater while he waited. An unnecessary gesture given how Jay always runs hotter than her; wanders around this city in just a hoodie and a thin leather jacket long after she's pulled out the parka and the red, wool beanie.

Yet the heaters are running; the vents all directed towards her seat in anticipation that even a quick walk from the Cliffords' front door to the 300 would leave her chilled. Another unnecessary gesture that pulls at Erin's lips, that causes her to twist her head to look at him.

She flinches, of course, when the collar of her trenchcoat ends up rubbing against the scrape on her neck. The cut may not have been deep, but it still stings. Still inflames her cheeks a deep red at the reminder of how stupid, how gullible she was today.

And her reaction time is slowed for the third time today. Not because she's been rendered incapacitated by a blow to the head or a drug-soaked cloth to the mouth, but because it's Jay and he's never given her any reason to pull away. To recoil from anything other than the truth he's trying to get her to see.

So she allows his fingers to slide along her throat for the second time today. Tries not to flinch when the rough pads of his fingertips touch against the deepest part of the cut. Holds his gaze as his eyes deepen with worry and then follow said gaze as his eyes dart from the center console between them to the glove box.

"We've really got to start keeping a first aid kit in here," he murmurs. She had used up the tissues kept in the glove box - a holdover from a few years ago when he came to work with the flu - to clean off her face, and anything serious usually means a visit with Ambulance Sixty-One.

The rest - the bruises, the small cuts and abrasions - are walked off. The old tough guy routine she mastered at a young age - one far younger than Carolyn - and then had drilled into her over the years of being a cop, particularly a detective in Voight's unit.

"She's afraid to sleep in her own bed," Erin informs Jay as his eyes follow the fingers he's trailing across her neck. He's reassuring himself that the cut is superficial, that he got there in time, and it takes a moment for him to pull away. For that concern in his eyes over her physical well-being to morph into concern about what she's got going on upstairs as his hand moves to cup her cheek.

"And tomorrow she'll wake up knowing that we got the guy," he reminds her as she tilts her head into the warmth of his palm. There's a momentary pause where she thinks he might add something else - something about how he gets to wake up knowing he got to his partner in time - but he's already said what he needed to say in the break room and he lets the strum of his thumb against her cheekbone speak instead. Say all the things that neither of them is ready to voice just yet.

"Can we skip Molly's and have that beer at the apartment?" Erin asks after a moment, after Jay's hand has fallen from her face to his lap. She's not really interested in putting on a face for their coworkers or the firemen or the doctors milling about Molly's tonight. Doesn't want eyes on her neck or questions about whether or not Jay will be cleared of wrong doing for the shot he was forced to take.

"Definitely," he promises cracking a smile as he twists back around in his seat to grab the seat belt dangling beside the passenger door. His smile causes her to smile; his enthusiasm causes her to twist in her seat to grab her own seat belt. Because this - her driving and him riding shotgun back to her place - is quickly become their new normal. The cathartic cap on a rough day.


	12. One, Two, Jab (3x12)

Author's Note: The events in this chapter occur in the morning after "Looking Out of Statesville" (3x12) and are set in Antonio's gym. Mainly because I had hoped we'd see more of the unit training there like in 1x05 instead of at Molly's all the time. Thoughts and feedback are appreciated.

* * *

He waits for her punches to fall into a steady rhythm, for the bounce of her feet and the retraction of her fist to sync up with the sway of her body. And when she falls into that well-known pattern - one, two, jab, one, two, jab - he slips behind the bag. Presses his hip into the black fabric right as her elbow cocks backwards; curls his hands around the bag right as her fist slams into it.

He's seen what happens to people who are on the receiving end of her sucker punch. Watched them stumble backward or fall to the ground from the force of her knuckles connecting with their jaw. So Jay isn't surprised when the fabric bag kicks back into his hip, when his splayed fingers slip against the slick fabric of the bag.

Erin is the one who is caught of guard, though. Her body falling out of its established rhythm - one, two, jab, one, two, one, two - as her eyes flash upward to glare at the jerkoff who dares insert himself into her practice. He's seen that decidedly uninterested and decidedly unimpressed look on her face before. Directed first at him when Antonio introduced him to the rest of the unit, and then over the years tossed out at men - lowlifes trying to impress their friends, common criminals, lawyers in suits, muscle heads at the gym - trying to use any opportunity to get into her pants.

Which maybe wasn't exactly what he was trying to do when he stuck his hand out and introduced himself to her on his first day in Intelligence, but the idea certainly isn't far from his mind now that he's been her partner for three years. Not when he spent last night at Molly's listening to Ruzek waffle from anger to confusion to blubbering over his newly broken engagement. Not when one time a day has become one time a week. And certainly not when her cheeks are flushed and she's bouncing on the balls of her feet and those black leggings are hugging the curve of her ass like that.

A fact some of the other men milling about Antonio's gym this morning have definitely noticed given the way they're halfheartedly engaged in their own training as they pretend not to be watching them. Pretend not to be waiting to see if she casts him a derisive look and informs him that he's punching above his weight. Pretend not to be crestfallen or surprised when that look slides off her face and she smiles at him.

"Yoga get cancelled this morning?" She asks with a hint of laughter in her voice and eyes that seem to smirk as they skim over the words emblazoned across his chest. The t-shirt had been a freebie passed out to him as he walked down the street; a promotional item he had tucked away in a drawer and promptly forgot about.

Until this morning when he yanked open the dresser drawers and realized most of his workout gear was in the laundry basket at his place. Looked at the near empty laundry basket and decided the rest was probably at her place.

Forgotten in a pile behind the couch because they had been too anxious to get to the bedroom to care. Or, more likely, abandoned on the floor of her bathroom because she didn't keep a hamper in there and purposely moving his clothes from the bathroom to her bedroom seemed like too much of a statement.

Too much of an opportunity to see that look - the anxious one she gets when they move into uncharted territory for her - flash across her face as she decides if she's okay with them commingling their personal lives and their professional lives and their dirty laundry. If him doing laundry at her place also means that he should maybe have a drawer there, too.

"You didn't seem to mind my flexibility the other night," he replies with a pointed look that dissolves into a wide grin when she pushes her tongue into her cheek and fights against her own smile over the memory.

"Uh huh," she replies taking a step towards him as she adjusts the protective bindings on her right hand. His Adam's apple bobs as her eyes rake over his body again, as she leans against the bag so it strategically presses back into him and lowers her voice to a husky whisper. "And yet I wasn't the one complaining about their back hurting the next morning."

She gives him a cheeky grin as she steps backwards, and then another one as she shows off the truly flexible one in this partnership with a roundabout kick to the bag. And he has to show off those lightning fast reflexes - the physical kind because he's still mentally sputtering - with a quick jerk to the right to avoid falling in her crosshairs.

"It's the passenger seat. No lumbar support," he swears as he grabs at the swinging bag and moves back into position. Checks his hip up against the slick, black fabric and nods his head in encouragement for her to fall back into her rhythm.

It takes her a moment to find her pace - one, two, one, two, jab - because she's too busy concentrating on his words. Too busy scoffing at his assertion and reminding him that telling her about the horrors of the passenger seat isn't gonna encourage her to give up the driver's seat.

But she eventually falls back into that established rhythm, and the two of them fall silent as she gets a few more punches and a couple left hooks in. As he presses his hip into the bag and waits for that telltale sign - the flash of her eyes, the synchronized double jab - that she wants him to step back so she can finish things off with another high kick.

He's pretty sure the spasm came from either the shoddily laid tiles in his shower or the couch he bought before he settled on his function over form rule. The black leather looks cool, but it's too small to sprawl out on and too unyielding for them to both Netflix and chill. And the tiles? Not a lot of form or function there.

Which is why the two of them spend ninety percent of their time at Erin's, and why he's been thinking about looking for a new place. Something with a view or a better location or an amenity that Erin's condo doesn't have. Like a self-cleaning bathroom so he doesn't have to spend five minutes they don't have every morning putting the cap back on the toothpaste and the wet towel on the rack and the dirty blonde hair in the trash can rather than in the sink.

But technology isn't there yet, and neither are his finances. He's not even sure he could afford a membership to the yoga studio he's currently advertising. But he's been thinking about looking for something newer, bigger in both a serious examination of his savings and his checking accounts and in a 'if he won the lotto sort of way'.

The latter 'what if' being part of the reason why he'd taken such an avid interest in the results scrolling across the ticker tape at the bottom of one of the televisions at Molly's last night. The other reason being that he needed something to focus on other than Ruzek slamming back shots and Atwater trying to fish out more than an "I don't know" from the guy as to why Burgess gave back the ring.

Jay had a pretty good idea. The quickness of the engagement? It coming on the heels of Ruzek's last engagement? His interest in planning a bachelor party while trying to pass off planning the actual date of the wedding as Burgess' domain? All signs to him that something was off there.

But it wasn't his place to point that out to the guy last night and it won't be later this morning when they're all shooting the breeze in the bullpen later this morning.

Because while it's perfectly fine for Jay to call Adam onto the rug for rushing into op without thinking or for failing to respect differences in rank and the experiences that can with that and he enjoys grabbing beers at Molly's and watching Hawks games together, he doesn't want to set up the precedent that it's okay for Ruzek or anyone else in the unit to comment on his personal life. That what he does or doesn't do with Erin is fodder like every other in house romance for the unit or the patrolmen to dissect and discuss in the locker room.

He's seen the way stories and rumors follow female officers from district to district, and he's heard the whispers about Voight's Girl passed from beat to beat by cops who don't know Erin. Who don't know how she's more than that or how much hope she brings to victims or how she makes him a better cop.

So Jay keeps it professional with her when their own the job and nurses his beer, focuses on the recap of local sporting events, and keeps his mouth shut when they're off it. Opens it now because they're just two partners training; working to keep in the best shape possible so they can continue to have each other's back.

"Do you remember the bet you placed yesterday?" Jay questions as Erin finishes off her set with one last kick to the bag. He's stepped away enough that the thing swings wildly; the chain jerking and pulling so a clanging noise smothers most of his words.

But he can tell she's heard him thanks to the look on her face as she works on pulling off the protective bindings around her fists. Recognizes the contemplative narrowing of her eyes as the mulls over the events before Eddie tried to slip one past them, before he tried to force her dad and their boss to his knees.

The bet had been part of their cover, although the glasses of water had probably given them away. People tended to come to the track on a random Wednesday to forget their troubles, to delude themselves into thinking they could win big and start anew. And water didn't typically go hand in hand with a desire to forget.

But it had last long enough for them to catch Jensen and his crew, for him to learn what was eating Erin and why Eddie was telling her to back off. Long enough for him to get that while she was walking around with blinders on about Voight and, therefore, what was bothering him about the op - Voight's cutting his old cellmate in like he owed the guy - he was walking around with blinders on about what was bothering her about the whole situation. More of that personal stuff he knows she doesn't want gossiped about in the locker room.

"Vaguely," Erin replies as she tucks her bindings under her arm before moving over to the gym bag she's tossed haphazardly onto the floor next to the ring behind her. "Rocky Bottom to place fifth in the first or something like that."

"Sandy Bottoms," he corrects certain there weren't two horses running yesterday with such similar names. "And it was first in the fifth, right?"

"Uh, maybe," Erin replies as she bends over to retrieve her water bottle. She takes a long drag before turning around to face him, and the mumbles out her question around the middle stuck in the corner of her mouth. "Why?"

"I'm your partner," he reminds her.

"Yeah, so?" She questions tossing him a look as though he's just made the most obvious statement in the world.

"So, as your partner, you agreed that I'm entitled to half your winnings." The joking tone he wraps his words in and the way he cocks his head to the side with a playful smile only causes her to scoff at him, to shake her head side to side and roll her eyes.

"One, I never agreed to that," Erin reminds him with a pointed look, and Jay's face falls in mock disappointment that she didn't fall for his rugged good looks or his razor sharp mind this time. "And, two, it's was like a one dollar bet. Your share would be what? Two-twenty? Max."

"Hmm," Jay hums out in agreement as he mulls over the information, as he notices over Erin's shoulder that Antonio is making his way over to them so he and Jay can spar before shift. Two-twenty isn't enough for date night at the Purple Pig and definitely not enough for him to get a new place. "Sounds like enough for a coffee run before work. I take mine black with-"

"Almond milk," she fills in with roll of her eyes because she still finds his preference ridiculous. "You're out of luck. Don't think I kept the ticket."

"Have you checked your bathroom?" Jay asks with exaggerated features and teasing tone as he sidesteps around her to meet up with Antonio. "Never know what's under that mess."

And his jabbing words are met with a jab to his ass; Erin's legging rounding up to kick him in the butt. Light enough that he'll still be able to ride shotgun layer, but hard enough that he kind of stumbles forward. That Antonio gets to see a bit of their unprofessional behavior play out as Erin hisses at him to shut up if he wants to come over tonight and Jay just smiles at her false threat in reply.


	13. Gotta Be Professional (3x13)

**Author's Note:** This chapter are meant to set up the events that happen in "Hit Me" (3x13). Looking back, I think the episode wouldn't have been such a "huh?" moment for me if (a) I didn't go into the episode knowing Linstead were undercover or (b) there had been a better set-up as to why they chose to have Erin throw the whole "find someone else to save" thing back in Jay's face. So this is my attempt at providing (b) for myself.

* * *

Ruzek's voice trails off twisting the period at the end of his statement into a question. It's his standard reaction to the look on Voight's face - those hard eyes and that blank expression that makes it difficult to read what their sergeant is thinking. To know if what's been said has contributed to his positive or negative estimation of the speaker.

But it's a reaction she thinks he probably should have shaken after three years under Voight's command, after three years of being an officer in such an elite unit. And Erin tips back in her chair as she waits for Voight's reply. Crosses her arms across her chest and glances from where Ruzek stands by the filing cabinet to where Voight stands in the doorway of his office as she waits for his reaction.

"Hmm," Voight grunts out holding Ruzek's gaze as he mulls over his suggestion. There's no way they're going to be able to get someone in patrol to flip on this dirty cop, and Erin knows that's not Voight's style anyways. Always maintained that as dirty as he got, as much as he climbed down into the mud a few years back, he never ratted on another cop. Never told IA the things they want to hear so they could nail someone's star to the door.

So Ruzek's idea - sending the only female officer in this unit undercover as bait for a couple of dirty cops - is about the only option they have left. And Erin isn't surprised when Hank's eyes drift over to hers, when he silently questions if she's okay running this op by herself for the few minutes it'll take for her team to get to her after she gets pulled over.

"I'm not wearing a skirt," she informs him with a shake of her head and smirk on her lips. The comment causes the hard line of Hank's lips to soften because they both know what she's really saying. That she'll be fine. That she can hold her own. That she doesn't want any of these jokers - or the dirty cop who assaulted Christy Bradford - to get a look at her bare legs.

"So we'll call up the casino," Ruzek interjects from his spot over by the filing cabinets. "Let them know to keep an eye on Lindsay. Make it so she wins enough to draw attention to herself."

A ripple of laughter travels around the room from Atwater - who shakes his head at Ruzek's statement - to Dawson - who points out that the casino could be in on the haul - and, finally, to Al, who rolls his chair out from behind his desk and moves to stand behind Halstead as he cuts a glance over at Voight.

"Hey, Al," Hank grumbles out of the side of his mouth as he continues to stare at Ruzek. "How old was Lindsay when she hustled you out of six hundred dollars in game of blackjack?"

"Oh," Al hums glancing over at Erin, "about twelve. Thirteen. Still not sure if she was counting cards, or if she'd stacked the deck."

"Six hundred bucks?" Ruzek questions in a voice that is a mixture of both disbelieving awe and laughter at his mentor's expense.

"Yeah, man, Lindsay ain't playin'," Atwater adds darting his eyes from Ruzek to Erin. A couple of friendly rounds of Uno between him and Lindsay when it had just been the two of them at Molly's one Tuesday night because the rest of the unit was stuck at the district finishing up paperwork had ended with Atwater buying Erin's next two whiskeys and paying off her tab for the rest of the week.

She had, at least, let him preserve some of his dignity by never disclosing how he came to be responsible for her tab, but the look of devious mirth on her face right now is exactly why he'll never invite her over to play cards with him, Ruzek, and some of the patrolmen from the district. Would rather stick to more sensible things like taking her out for breakfast before shift because setting his dignity aside and asking for advice on how to get in good with Voight only costs him nine-fifty plus tip.

"Alright, so we'll leave the casino out of the loop and station me and Atwater around the casino floor. Put Dawson and O on the road back into the city, and have you and Halstead come up behind the guy when he pulls Lindsay over," Ruzek says correcting his earlier suggestion for how the op should play out. And then his voice drops low and his head dips down with it as he catches the look on Voight's face and tacks on a 'sir' to the end of his comments about his playbook.

"Single, drunk female scoring big at the blackjack table?" Erin interjects pulling the attention of the unit from Ruzek to herself. She cocks her head to the side, shoots them all a pointed look because she knows every single one of the men on her team have been in a bar at least once in their lives.

"Erin's right," Jay replies from his seat across the bullpen from her. "She won't just be getting just the attention of our dirty cop if she's sittin' by herself."

"She won't be by herself," Ruzek replies with a hint of exasperation in his voice. "Me and Kev will be there."

"Two, big guys sitting nearby with their eyes on me?" Erin asks with a dubious look on her face. "Any cop - even a dirty one - is gonna know you're plain clothes officers workin' undercover and wouldn't be stupid enough to come after me."

There's a quiet moment as those assembled around the bullpen mull over Erin's assertion. Every one of them knows that the appearance of Atwater and Ruzek - close enough in proximity to get to her, but far enough away that the average joe at the casino wouldn't put two and two together - would compromise their operation. Probably end with Erin driving into the city six hundred bucks richer and another young woman ending up at Med having lost all faith in the Chicago police department.

"Could pull up Ramirez or Burgess from patrol," Dawson suggests. "Get one of them to sit with Lindsay and then split off in the parking lot."

"Have to split resources then. Get someone to follow after Ramirez or Burgess in case they get targeted," Al reminds the unit as he moves to lean up against the filing cabinet effectively forcing Ruzek to take a step back. The younger officer shifts from side to side as he uncomfortably looks for a place to sit, and he eventually perches himself on the edge of Mouse's desk, which causes the techie to cast a derisive look at the officer. To glance over at Jay and then at Erin to make sure his annoyance has been registered before reaching out to adjust the monitor Ruzek managed to jostle with his ass as he took a seat.

"No, it's gotta be a couple," Voight interjects pulling the attention of his unit back to him and the whiteboard where a picture of Christy Bradford's bruised face is tacked up. And when he has their attention, when all eyes are back on him, Hank gestures with the flick of his over to the man seated across from Erin, "You and Halstead figure out how you want to play this, and we'll hit it tonight. Don't want this piece of scum hiding behind his star one more night."

"Alright," Erin replies jumping to her feet and ripping her coat off the back of her chair. "Halstead and I'll run by my place and grab some clothes for tonight."

For anyone else, the comment would have been a minor slip of the tongue, but Erin can practically feel the entire unit freeze in place - their gazes shifting from her to Halstead to Voight - as they realize what she's admitted to. A public confession about the status of her and Halstead's private relationship; a break in the professionalism that she and Jay have been trying to maintain so as not to call attention down from the Ivory Tower or antagonize Voight. And Erin has to force herself to lift her own gaze, to look Voight right in the eye and see him mull over this piece of information.

She knows he told Jay that he doesn't want to know or care about the status of their relationship, but he's also the guy that raised her and Erin knows when he's lying, when he's pretending not to care about her to protect her from being labeled as 'Voight's Girl'. And she hopes he knows that she would have been forthright with him if she and Jay were at the stage where they were talking about moving in together . That she wouldn't just slip that information into a conversation in the middle of the bullpen. That she really just meant that she and Halstead would multitask - hash out a plan in the car and pick up clothes for her because Jay can get buy with whatever is in his locker - since it's already getting late in the day and the whole unit wants to get this guy off patrol as soon as possible.

And Voight's either gotten that message or he's shelved this piece of information for a conversation at a later date because all he does is nod his head, turn on his heels, and stride back into his office. Leaves the team sitting in the bullpen watching his retreating figure in silence until Dawson steps up and starts instructing Atwater and Ruzek to work with Mouse on floor plans and parking lot egresses with Mouse. Until Erin finishes pulling on her coat and heads for the back entrance of the district; Halstead following closely on her heels as she makes her way down the stairs, through the garage, and out to where the Chrysler is parked.

"Definitely just gonna wear what's in my locker now," Jay informs her when he finally catches up to her, and Erin glances over the roof of the car as she fiddles with the key fob to see him looking at her with pitched eyebrows and a pointed look on his face. And she nods her head yanking open the door and sliding into the driver's seat when she finally gets the fob to cooperate and unlock the car door.

"Although," Jay adds as he slides into the passenger seat, "maybe I should grab the clothes I've left at your place just in case your dad does a sweep for evidence later."

She's pretty sure he means it as a joke given the cadence in his voice and the jab about Voight being her father, but it's difficult for her to smile, to correct his mislabeling the way she normally does when the realization that she's the one who threw off their cloak of professionalism is still pushing down on her. Still ringing in her ears and making it difficult for her to do something as simple as turn over the engine and get them out of the district's parking lot.

"Hey," Halstead interrupts, and she knows immediately that she's missed at least one or two attempts to get her attention before by the way his pointer finger is curled around her right pinkie. "It's okay. This isn't the first time we've slipped up at work."

"Mouse isn't the same as the entire unit, Jay," Erin asserts, but she lets him hold on her finger. Releases her grip on the key in the ignition enough so she can lock her pinkie back around his finger, so she can hold onto him. "We hang out with him outside of work."

"And you hang out with Voight for some reason I don't understand," he adds, and the tone of his voice clues her into the sizeable, teasing grin currently plastered across his face before she lifts her gaze up to look at him. A grin that fades when he sees the look on her face. "It's not like last time. We have his permission, Erin. And if he wasn't okay with this, he'd let us know. Voight's not exactly shy about expressing his opinions."

"Yeah," Erin murmurs in agreement, but she pulls her gaze away from him. Sweeps her eyes across the empty parking lot of the district to make sure a patrolman is gleaming information about her and how she behaves with her partners that others don't need to be privy to. Because if this doesn't work out - or, if it does - and one of them ends up getting bounced from Intelligence, she doesn't need the label slapped onto so many female officers following her to her next district. Doesn't need the whispers she's already hearing about Burgess being attached to her name, too.

"So how you wanna play this?" Jay asks as he releases his grip on Erin's finger and falls back into his seat so he's facing forward instead of facing her.

She knows exactly what he's doing - focusing on the case so they can re-establish their professionalism at work, pulling her attention away from the thoughts in her head so she doesn't spend the rest of the evening stewing on the possibility that Voight will stop calling on them to play a couple undercover after they close this case - and she appreciates the effort on his part. And Erin holds up her end of their deal by being the one to drive and pushing for them to focus on the case by offering up the suggestion that the two of them get into a fight so she has a reason to be alone in the car. To appear vulnerable to whoever is in the casino tipping off their dirty copy.

"Okay, but we don't fight so how exactly do you want to go at it about?" Jay questions and Erin toss him pointed look of disagreement as she turns onto the street that runs past Firehouse Fifty-One and leads directly to her apartment. Directly to the place where Jay definitely does not live but spends enough time at that some of his clothes have taken up residence.

"I don't think a casino is the place to bring up you making a mess in the bathroom or leaving your clothes all over the floor," he sasses back when he catches onto her silent assertion that they do, in fact, fight.

"You know that could stop, right?" Erin cheekily replies. "I could keep my clothes off the floor by keeping them on all the time."

"Hmm," Jay hums out pretending to mull over her proposal with serious consideration. "That would help keep things professional between us."

"Uh huh," Erin murmurs in agreement trying to suppress the smile that's breaking out across her face over how ridiculous Jay can be.

"But if you've already got Voight thinking we're not professional, then we might as well get to reap the rewards of that," he informs her with a dead serious look on his face as he keeps his gaze trained on the road ahead of them.

"You know if we're not back at the district in ten minutes-" Erin starts glancing over to see Jay squirm in his seat. And there's a pause as she watches him nervously glance over at the clock on the dash to mentally calculate the minutes they've already wasted, as she waits for him to come back with some suggestive banter, but all he does is rub his fingertips up against his hairline along his forehead and glance over at her as she pulls the car up in front of her building.

"Last time we fought was about your, uh, sabbatical," Jay informs her in a soft tone of voice that makes it clear he's choosing his words carefully. "If I pretended to count your drinks or something, it would make it appear that you're drunker than you actually are. More, uh, vulnerable."

"You really want to have that argument again?" Erin questions twisting in her seat to look at him under the pretense that she's working on undoing her seatbelt.

"It's undercover work, Erin. The details sell it, and we don't have a lot of time to get our story straight," he informs her gesturing with a nod of his head towards the clock on the dashboard of the Chrysler. "And we're professional so whatever you say to me doesn't come home with us, right?"

"Right," Erin agrees without missing a beat before reaching for the door handle. She starts to push open the door but pauses when she realizes Jay hasn't moved, and Erin glances back over her shoulder at him with one eyebrow raised in silent question.

"I'm not giving Voight any reason to think the clothes I'm wearing tonight came from your place," Jay asserts before gesturing to the dark blue t-shirt, jeans, and brown jacket he's got on right now. "Just gonna wear this and call it a night."

"Oh, then I'm definitely not wearing a skirt," Erin asserts with a smirk as she moves to climb out of the driver's seat. "No one would believe we're a couple if I'm wearing something dry clean only and you're wearing that."


	14. Fine (3x14)

**Author's Note:** FYI, there will be two addendums (or, oneshots) to 3x14, "The Song of Greg William Yates". This one is set between Hank's phone call with Benson in the SVU side of the crossover and the scenes of Erin and Dawson in the NYC taxi. The next one will, hopefully, bridge the gap between what we saw between Linstead in 3x14 and Erin talking about love in 3x15. *coughroadtripcough*

* * *

His posture has been stoic, rigid since Voight's announcement to the bullpen this morning that she and Antonio are booked on the next flight out of O'Hare to LaGuardia. Since it was decided without his input that she and Dawson would be the ones to go; since he had tried to go over her head by asking to speak to Voight in his office and been publicly rebuffed by their boss. Been told that the decision had been made - she and Dawson would go to New York to speak to Yates while he and the rest of the team stayed behind to close out their latest case.

It had been Antonio who soothed over the hurt, who asked if Jay would drop him and Lindsay off at O'Hare so they wouldn't have to worry about receipts and reimbursement forms when they got back. But Erin figures he would have offered - insisted judging by the look in his eyes - and shown up on her doorstep anyways. Would have darken her doorway until she wordlessly stepped aside and let him in like she did twenty minutes ago.

Twenty minutes where he's stood leaning up against the dresser opposite her bed - arms folded across his chest, hard eyes watch her fold sweaters and tuck them into her suitcase, and a posture so rigid that the animosity and the hurt rolls off him in waves. Emotions that she doesn't appreciate having directed at her because she didn't ask for this trip, didn't volunteer to speak to the man who -

Her mind and her heart still stumble over Nadia's name and the thought of what was done to her. Of how Erin's star and her gun and her baiting comments put a target on Nadia's back. Of how Nadia went out for a birthday cake and ended up in a shallow, sandy grave across the country.

The thought, the realization that she might have to go back to that spot causes Erin's stomach to drop, and her right hand instinctively curls around the edge of her suitcase in order to steady herself. To keep her from tossing up that cup of coffee now churning in her stomach; to keep her from scrambling out into the kitchen to make that coffee Irish.

She had tossed most of that stuff when she bought her couch and got her fresh start, but some of it had started to seep back in as she got a handle on her life. The six-pack of beer in the fridge for the nights Jay came over to watch the Hawks play; the bottle of whiskey on the top shelf of the cabinet above the sink for the nights when they needed something stronger but didn't want to be at Molly's.

But Nadia would never get her fresh start - a second chance on her second chance - like Erin did and neither would those girls still listed as missing persons by the CPD. Those girls whose bodies lay unidentified in the New York medical examiner's office and whose identities remain locked away in Yates' twisted mind.

And that's why she has to go. Why she forces herself to release her physical grip on her suitcase and her mental grip on past so-called solutions. For Nadia. For the girls whose names she doesn't know. For the man in her life who trusts her to go and hold it together like she has been for the last eight months.

His trust stands in contrast to that of the other man in her life. The one who's watching her and waiting for any kind of sign that she's not ready to do this. And his animosity, his lack of faith in her is starting to irk her. To make her wish she had left him standing in the hallway of her apartment building because then she wouldn't have to see the words he won't say written across his face.

"I'm fine," she grits out through clenched teeth as she works on folding her red sweater. Tucks it into her suitcase next to the blue and purple flannel shirt as his jaw clenches in response, as his right hand grips tighter onto his left bicep. Sure signs that he's agitated and annoyed and all the other 'A' adjectives that don't come to mind because she's too focused on her own thoughts and her own pain to bother pulling out a thesaurus.

Jay has one - a curious addition to his rather barebones apartment - but Erin's not even sure she has one. Not unless Nadia purchased one to go along with the paperback dictionary she used while studying those ridiculously heavy law books. Said the printed version was easier and less distracting to use when Erin had pointed out that there's such a thing as the Internet.

And the thought of that memory, of how badly Nadia wanted to become a cop causes Erin's neutral expression to twist downward. Her pretense of being fine collapsing for just long enough that Jay's boots scuff on her hardwood floors as he moves to get closer to her.

She sidesteps him and his outstretched fingers to occupy his space over by her dresser, and she can practically feel his exhale of frustration on her skin. Hot air sliding over her body and leaving pebbled skin in its wake as she yanks open the top dresser drawer and riffles through the pile of underwear. She's only supposed to be gone for two days - out and back, Hank had called it - but her fingers pluck certain ones out in quick succession, and she ends up with turning back around with five in her hand.

Five pairs of panties that flutter and fall into a pile atop Jay's boots when she collides right into his chest, when she finds him standing directly behind her rather than maintaining the distance she thought she had put between them. Five pairs of panties that muddle around her feet when she tries to take a step backwards and only ends up smashing backwards into the dresser.

The picture frames atop the dresser rattle, and the commotion pulls Jay's gaze from her face to watch the one of her and Camille knock the one of her and Nadia over so it ends up faceplanting on the stained wood. His lips twisting into a small, apologetic frown that she catches through partially hooded eyes as she slips past him and strides over to her partially packed suitcase.

And she stares at the items already in the jet black rolling suitcase trying to make a mental list of what she still needs - socks, gloves, underwear that hasn't ended up on her floor - when she spies Jay out of the corner of her eye. Twists her head to the left to see him carefully wiping off the framed picture of her and Nadia with the hem of his shirt and then turns her whole body so she can watch him gather the dropped underwear off the floor. So she's facing directly at him - arms down by her side rather than defensively crossed across her chest - when he walks over to her and gently drops them into her suitcase next to folded up sweaters.

"I should be going with you. I'm your partner," he reminds her as though she would forget. As though he hadn't already tried to use that argument this morning on Hank, who had merely stared him down as he barked out that fact could change.

That comment hadn't gone over well. She can't seen the basis for such animosity on Voight's part given how hard she and Jay try to keep things professional. How, yes, they had slip up here and there, but they haven't flaunted it in his face or dragged their personal problems into cases or been putting in for transfers without thinking how such actions would have career-long ramifications. And Jay's behavior and his hardened eyes had made it clear that he didn't understand the basis for that threat, either.

"So what if Dawson hasn't been to New York yet?" Jay spits out. His voice has risen an octave; his anger becoming more palpable with every word. "He's worked with Sergeant Benson before. Tutuola, Carisi, Amaro. He can go next ti-"

She manages to silence him not by interrupting words but rather by the upward pitch of her left eyebrow, by the look of warning on her face because she doesn't want to think about there being a next time. About more kids ending up in prostitution rings pimped out by abusive foster homes like Teddy or another person as heinous as Yates terrorizing her city and those in the Big Apple so Intelligence and SVU have to create a cross-agency task force to catch them. Because if she never gets another all-expenses-paid trip to Manhattan, never has a reason to work alongside Sergeant Benson and her team again, then -

"I promised I would have your back twenty-four seven," Jay confesses softly after sinking down to sit on the bed beside her open suitcase. His gaze is focused on the loose thread of her purple quilt that his fingers have taken to picking and pulling at, and Erin has to lightly tap at his foot with her own to get him to knock it off. To stop pointing out the flaws in her apartment and look up at her.

"And you also promised Ethan that you'd be there with him as he testified," Erin asserts when Jay finally glances up at her because she knows how Ethan's case affect him. Knows that he's not the kind of guy who'd want to back out of a promise like that and that Ethan's in a place right now where he needs his male role models to follow through on things for him - not promise him things so he'll do something for them - because she's been in that place before and she's pretty sure Jay has too given everything he said while working that case.

And Erin watches his jaw clench shut once more as he processes the reminder. Sees the anger over what happened to that teenage kid flare up in the back of his eyes meshing and then overwhelming the anger already there over the way Voight doled out assignments this morning.

"His trial starts tomorrow."

"And he probably won't testify until Monday," Jay protests. "Friday, at the earliest. I can Facetime with him beforehand or-"

"Jay, he's a kid who's about to tell twelve complete strangers that his coach sexually abused him. That his best friend died because that coach hired someone to kill him. He needs you to do more than Facetime with him," Erin rebukes with a pointed look.

A look that falters as she shifts her gaze from Jay's face to the picture frame on the corner of her dresser and is then substituted with one that quietly begs for understanding as she sinks down onto the bedside Jay. As she fixes her gaze on the chilly, winter scene outside the large, bedroom windows across from where she and Jay sit on the bed rather than on Jay's face.

"I needed you to do more than Facetime with me," Erin reminds him. Her voice becomes gruffer with emotion, and the bed dips slightly as Jay twists his body around to look at her. His left hand sliding to curve around the inside of her right thigh; his head dipping downward as he tries to catch her eye. But she refuses to give it to him and, instead, she focuses on the swirl of white snow being picked up and tossed about by the wind. Focuses on how the wind had done similar things with the sand in fucking Pelham Bay Park.

"You should go pick up Dawson," Erin instructs after a moment. She turns her head just in time to see Jay's face falter at the suggestion, and she tries to offer him a smile as she adds, "He's probaby all packed and freezing his ass off waiting for us out in front of his apartment."

But it's clear from Jay's hard eyes soften as they slide back and forth across her face that her smile was weak and unconvincing. That she's done little to alleviate his anger over being excluded from the trip - even if it was for good reason - or his concern for her and what she's got going on upstairs. Thoughts and feelings that she pushes back as she pushes away Jay's hand, as she moves to stand on her feet and return to her packing.

"Erin," he calls out, but she moves past him. Ignores the ever mounting hints of concern in his voice as she strides over to the dresser and yanks open the second drawer. The one where she keeps that t-shirt of his they both pretend she hasn't stolen tucked behind a pile of socks, which she begins to riffle through with forced interest as he calls out her name again. "Erin."

"I'm fine," she snaps glancing up to look at his reflection in the mirror mounted above her dresser. "Go pick up Dawson. I'll be packed by the time you get back."

She watches his reflection in the mirror for a few more seconds, but Erin is forced to drop her gaze when Jay's fingers skim across the hairline at the top of his forehead because she can't stomach watching his tried and true tell of concern for her.

Which is why she keeps her head down and her posture as rigid as his has been all morning until she hears his boots against the hardwood and the telltale click of her front door slamming shut behind him. And it's also why she hadn't backed up Jay's public assertion in the bullpen that his status as her partner mean he gets to go to New York with her. Period. End of discussion. Why she had been the one to remind Hank of Jay's promise to Ethan when he pulled her aside to talk about Sergeant Benson's phone call asking for her assistance first thing this morning. Because she's certainly not going to be fine seeing that happen and that look from Jay over and over again for the next two days.


	15. Lost (3x14)

**Author's Note:** Apologies for the severe delay in updating. I tried to get back into the mindset needed to finish this fic; I'm not sure if I've been successful. This is the second addendum (or, oneshot) to 3x14, "The Song of Greg William Yates". This one is set after the episode and is an attempt to bridge the gap between what we saw between Linstead in 3x14 and Erin talking about love in 3x15.

The robotic voice chirps instructing her to take a left turn on yet another nonexistent road, and she lets out a frustrated groan as she presses her foot against the brake. Gravel crunches under the tires as the 300 slows to a painful crawl, and Erin's eyes scan across the windshield trying to find this road the Garmin mounted on the dashboard keeps trying to send her down.

"Make a U-turn," the electronic box chirps before changing its computerized mind about which why they should go. "Drive three hundred feet and turn right. Turn - lost satellites."

Another frustrated sigh passes over Erin's lips as the Garmin repeats what it has been announcing since it told them to take the next exit off US-51 about an hour ago. As she glances out of the corner of her eye to see her partner sitting with his right arm pressed up against the passenger side door - his knuckles pushed into the side of his face in an attempt to hold his head up - and the paper map of Wisconsin Hank tossed at them on their way out of the bullpen this morning draped unopened across his left knee.

"I thought the Army taught you how to read a map," She snaps shifting in her seat slightly so she can get a better look at him, so she can catch the way his eyebrows pitch upward even as his gaze remains fixated on the sea of brown grass and white snow bisected by a gravel road ahead of them.

"I thought you didn't want me to talk," he sasses back without missing a beat, and she shakes her head as she glances from him to the Garmin mounted on the dash. He isn't entirely wrong; she had told him to stop asking if she was okay, to stop hovering over her like she was some damsel in distress. And when it was all over, when Yates ended up with a bullet between the eyes, she may have told him something to that effect again.

Because she was willing to admit that she wasn't sure how she was when he asked for the umpteenth time how she was doing, but she had taken Voight and Benson's eyes on them as out and had used their mantra of professionalism as a way to dismiss him and his concern from behind her desk so she could go home and crash. So she could look at the picture of Nadia pinned to the fridge and tell herself that it was over. That no other woman who have to go through the nightmare that Nadia did.

Yet when the bullpen empty, when she no longer felt Jay's concerned gaze on her from the desk across the aisle because his paperwork was done and Voight had told the rest of the team to get out of there, Voight and Benson had run interception. Refused to let her go home until after she agreed to grab a drink at Molly's at Benson, until after she sat on a bar stool and was too far down a glass of whisky and a bunch of advice to pay attention to the buzz of her cell phone with texts asking if she wanted to grab a drink, if she wanted to crash at his place, if she was okay.

Silence had begotten silence, apparently, because his eyes had remained downcast when she walked into the bullpen the next morning, when Voight came out of his office to tell her that she needed to follow protocol for a fatal police shooting. Needed to talk to one of the shrinks employed by the Ivory Tower before he could let her off desk duty. And while his heavy footsteps behind her as she exited the bullpen down the back entrance hadn't exactly been silent, the words on his lips had died when she told him that she didn't need to talk about it with a shrink or with Benson or with him because she was fine and it was over.

All he had done then was nod, and all he has done since is nod. Nodded when she returned to the bullpen this morning with her papers certifying she'd spoken about the shooting with someone down at the Ivory Tower. Nodded when Voight announced that Halstead and Lindsay were going to pick up a suspect being held by the one-man police department in some town outside of Wisconsin's Flambeau River State Forest while the rest of the team chased another lead. Nodded when she snatched the keys to the 300 off his desk and announced she was driving as they exited the bullpen.

And, even now, she thinks she catches sight of a little nod as she throws the car in reverse, as she drapes her arm over the back of his seat and watches out the back window of the 300 while stopping on the accelerator. There is no way she could pull off a three-point turn on this narrow, gravel road. Not without dumping the 300 into a ditch or getting them stuck perpendicular to the flow of the nonexistent traffic. And so she settles on backing up until there is a place they can turn around, until -

The Chrysler jolts as the rear tires roll backwards, and the two of them are tossed upwards in their seats for the split second it takes for Erin's foot to move from the accelerator to the break. Panic flitters across both of their faces, and Jay's head tears away from where it rests of his fist as he twists around to glance out the rearview window. Twists again to glance at the side mirror in an attempt to see what she might have hit.

They had both gone through training in the academy about all the dangers a cop needs to look out for while driving - the kids riding their bikes in the neighborhood, the cats that dart out into the road, the old ladies who forget to wear their hearing aids and don't hear the sirens approaching an intersection - and worst case scenarios rom Chicago plus those unique to Wisconsin - the dairy cows crossing the country road, the eagles picking at road kill - are rushing to the forefronts of their minds as Erin pulls on the parking break, as they both fumble to exit the car.

He reaches the back wheel first thanks to his long legs and possession of the passenger seat, and she barely has an opportunity to peer at him over the hood of the car before he's shaking his head at her. Before his lips are tugged upward into a half-smile as he explains that she must have run over some sharp cheese curds or a really big mosquito because the 300 has a flat.

"I'll call," she starts to say, but the chirp of the Garmin announcing once again that it has lost satellite reception cuts her off. No satellite service means there isn't likely to be any cell service, and she has no idea where the tell the tow truck to come get them anyways.

So, instead, she reaches into the car to shift the gear into park, cut the engine, flips on the hazard lights, and pop to the trunk. Pulls her beanie down over her head a bit more to ward off the February chill as she slams the front door shut and moves around to the back of the 300. Jay is already rooting around for the jack and the socket set, and he doesn't bat an eye when she starts yanking out the spare tire.

"Should be enough to get us to Winter," he announces leaning down to give the spare a squeeze before he steps around her and moves towards the flat tire. The assurance, the enunciated capitalization of a season gives her pause, and Erin abandons the tire up against the back bumper of the 300 so she can follow after him.

"Do you know where we are?" The incredulity seeps into her voice, twists her features, and heightens further when Jay merely nods in reply because they've been lost for the last hour listening to the stupid Garmin tell them to take a jumbled series of turns and he never said anything. Never told her if the right turn down that narrow dirt road was right; never told her if taking the exit off US-51 was even correct.

"You've known this whole time?" She questions as he crouches down next to the wrecked tire and begins wrenching on the first lug nut. He merely nods in reply choosing instead to focus on removing the lug nut, on getting them back on the road, but her frustration has bubbled over and her next few words are spat out at him. "You never said anything. You just let me listen to the stupid GPS and get us lost for the last hour."

At that, his eyes snap up to look at her and there is an uncomfortable moment where her hardened gaze meets his soft one. Meets the same eyes that tried to inquire if she was okay a mere three days ago, that followed her nearly every move from the moment she returned from New York with a banged up knee and an unwavering determination to find Yates before he hurt anyone else.

"I'd never let you get lost on purpose," he replies. The cold February wind nearly carries away his words, but they still manage to reach her ears. Probably would have anyways because she knows from the way he's looking at her that he'd never let her get lost in Wisconsin or slip on a banana peel and fall down a hole. Knows from experience that he'd chase after her when she does.

And then it is her turn to nod, to remain silent as Jay states that he didn't say anything because she was, actually, going the right way. Explains how the road they were headed down before she decided to throw the 300 in reverse cuts through the forest and loops back to reach Winter while the the road she was returning to runs around the state forest, but also leads to Winter.

"It's about eleven miles from Winter to where we need to go," Jay informs her, and then his lips twitch upward into a bit of a smile as he adds that the cabin - the one his grandfather had moved by mules, the one he once said he wanted them both to retire to - is another fifty miles or so up the road from Winter in the opposite direction.

"Guess I should have let you drive," she acquiesces when Jay returns to working on the removing the lug nuts, and she braces herself for him to merely nod. Yet, this time, he shrugs and mouths off something about how she should have taken advantage of his razor-sharp mind back at the Illinois-Wisconsin border instead of telling him to shut up and turn on the GPS unit. Lets it go unsaid but understood that she should have let him talk.

"I know I don't always listen to you," she says after a moment, after he's managed to remove the first two lug nuts and placed them into her hand for safekeeping, and she waits for the scoff or the roll of the eyes or the muttering about how that's an understatement to come because it wouldn't be an inaccurate reaction. Because she heard when he said her name and told her not to as she opened the mysterious box. Because she heard the concern in his voice when he asked about her knee. Because she knew she was chasing after Yates alone only a few weeks after promising him that she'd never go in without backup again.

But this - her need to find Yates, to _get_ Yates without or without backup - was about Nadia and had nothing to do with their partnership. And she hopes he understands that. Thinks that maybe he does because he remains silent as he continues to work on removing the third lug nut from the wheel, as she as she tries to find a way to formulate the 'but' part of her statement without scaring him off. Without using words that she's not sure she knows how to say to anyone but Camille Voight.

"I get it," he adds after a long moment of her shifting from one foot to the next as she tries to keep her extremities warm while her mind races. "You loved - _love_ \- Nadia, and love makes us do crazy things."

"Like go in without backup," Erin offers up as an example, and she sighs when Jay nods his head. Finds herself copying his movement when he looks up at her and offers his own examples of badgering your girlfriend about how she's doing when she just wants you to back off or driving by her apartment to make sure she's okay because she hasn't had time to change her locks yet.

"Or walking away after she tells you how she's really doing because you know that means she needs space," Erin interjects onto his list. "And then keeping quiet until she's ready to talk to you."

"Something like that," he replies as he finishes removing the fourth lug nut, as he moves to drop it into her outstretched hand without looking up at her. And she only hesitates for a moment before she reaches out with her free hand - the one empty of lug nuts - to brush against his back, to get him to look up at her.

"I know I don't always listen to you," she repeats again, and her voice grows even more gravelly as she settles on the words that will follow the 'but' to that sentence. "But I do know that I'm glad I have you as my partner. Both professionally and unprofessionally."

And, this time, the nod of Jay's head doesn't piss her off because it is accompanied with a smile that makes her own lips twist upward in reply. Because it is accompanied with a surefooted 'ditto' and a long pause where his eyes linger on hers before he moves on to instructing her to grab the spare tire and bring it over.

"So," she drawls out as she rolls the fat donut spare over to him, "if we're so close to where we need to be, think we've got time for you to drive us up to the cabin for a bit?"

She offers the question with a smirk, but it melts right of her face when he replies with a quick 'no'. And she wonders briefly if he's letting the need for professionalism extend too far outside of Chicago or if the conversation they just had still hasn't ended the silence between them. But then Jay glances up at her - the serious look on his face betrayed by the look in his eyes - and says, "If I take you to the cabin in the middle of winter - no bald eagles, no fish in the river, and snow up to the windowsills- I'll never get you up there again."


	16. Got the Munchies (3x15)

**Author's Note:** This oneshot picks up at the end of "A Night Owl" (3x15).

* * *

The ringing ceases with an audible click, and then her gravelly, giggly voice filters through the speaker and into his ear. The sound of it tugs his lips upward into a smile; the question contained within it causes his own chuckle to burst forth because, yeah, he kind of does have the munchies now.

"Starving," he tells her, and his smile deepens as her laughter cuts through the phone, as he follows her instructions to hold on and listens to muffled words as she tells someone not to leave something anywhere. He has no idea who the someone or what the something might be, but his attention is pulled from what he overheard to the silent mimicry of the last two people exiting the store.

The former Marine who cracked jokes about a pot shop being his stepping stone out of rehab stands silently by the front door; his military training evident in the way he positions his body and keeps his eyes scanning the horizon as his boss - _their_ boss - works on locking up for the night. Jay's brow furrows when he spots Brianna patting the guy's chest as she says her goodbyes for the night, when he notices how the gesture causes the guy's eyes to widen slightly and his jaw to lock tighter.

Yet the furrow in his brow releases when he hears he say his name, and Jay shifts slightly in the driver's seat of his car as he drags his attention back to the woman on the other end of the line. Gives a small nod in farewell when he catches Terry's attention as the former Marine watches Brianna dart across the parking lot to her car, as his new coworker eventually follows her lead and heads to his own pickup truck parked three spots down from Jay's car.

"Are you done for the night?" The voice in his ear questions, and Jay offers a hum in response before asking if Erin still wants to grab dinner. "Yeah, I gave Burgess her toothbrush so I'm good for dinner."

"Her toothbrush?" Jay questions because he has no idea how a toothbrush became a part of getting drinks with Burgess and some of the women from Med or Firehouse 51. But Erin's soft chuckle accompanies instructions not to worry about it, and she shifts the conversation to be about when and where they want to meet for dinner.

"I'm beat. Can we just do takeout at my place?"

"Hmm," Erin hums, and the sound of music, laughter, and clinking beers downs out the sound of her voice for a moment as she pretends to consider his offer. Or, at least, he hopes it is pretending because while he'd happily take her out wherever she wants to go or cook her something at home, he also thinks curling up on his couch and fighting over the last egg roll sounds like a better way to end a day where he worked back-to-back shifts. "Better idea. We get takeout at my place."

He scoffs at bit at her suggestion - his eyes fluttering shut as his lips twitch into a smile - because he should have known that her objection would be centered around his apartment. He can count on one hand the number of times she's stayed there overnight since they went official back in October. Can't count on one hand the number of times she's complained about the lack of windows, the smallness of his couch, or the minimal number of pillows on his bed. All complaints that, if he's been honest, he's started to consider in his decision to start looking for a new place.

New apartments - whether rented or owned - cost money, though, and that's why he's ended up spending his night working security at a pot shot. Setting aside his reservations about putting more drugs on the street - even if it is just pot - and agreed to stay on his feet for a couple more hours a day instead of spending his downtime on Erin's couch. Getting in that form and function.

"Your place, it is," he agrees after a moment, and he glances down at the clock to try and come up with an accurate ETA. "Want me to pick you up at Molly's? I can be there in twenty."

"No," she replies explaining that he'd have to drive past her place to get there and, besides, she and Burgess drove over seperately so she needs to get her car home anyways. "I'll head out now and meet you there. Is Chinese good? I call and order our usuals."

"Yeah, that sounds great. I'll see you in a bit," Jay says ending the call when Erin says she'll see him soon. He toss the phone onto the passenger seat beside him, shifts forward in his own seat, and reaches for the key in the ignition to turn the car over. His eyes scan over the empty parking lot once more before he shifts the car into reverse and heads towards Erin's place.

Traffic is heavier than he anticipated for this time of night, and the smell of takeout Chinese food already permeates the hallway by the time he finds a parking spot and makes his way inside Erin's building. Figures that means almost all the eggrolls have found a new home in Erin's stomach as he raps lightly on the door to her apartment.

"Hey, babe," she says when the door swings open, and the repetition of her earlier greeting causes him to smile because who knew Erin Lindsay was so into pet names? And before he can stop himself, before his stomach can tell his brain that he is far too hungry to start this right now, his arm is snaking around her waist and pulling her into him. His head dips down, and his lips find hers. Capture the words she was going to say, the question on her lips in a series of hungry kisses as he backs them both into the hallway of her apartment.

The door slams shut behind them thanks to the kick of his boot against it, and he slips his hand under her blue jean shirt and her black tank top to rest it against the bare skin of the small of her back. Presses another kiss against her lips until he feels her hand press against his chest, until he feels her pushing him ever so slightly away. And his head rears back to give her some space, to take in the slightly stunned look on her face.

"Okay," Erin says in that same joking tone she used less than an hour ago when she answered the phone and poked fun at his new job. "Aren't you supposed to be too mellow to do anything but eat?"

And he tries to laugh at her joke, tries to come back with a suggestive comment about what exactly he wants to eat tonight, but the fingers on his chest switch from holding him back to softly tracing circles onto his skin through the fabric of his jacket and she's looking at him in a such a way that makes it clear those kind of jokes aren't going to fly tonight. Makes it clear that she knows something happened.

"Did she hit on you?" Erin questions as her eyes narrow, as her laughing mirth becomes twinged with a bit of jealousy. Jealousy that deepens as he stumbles through a convoluted reply of denial and then acquiescence of the possibility followed by assurance that he's not interested.

"I'd tear up her phone number," he promises, "but I kind of need it for when I have to call out sick."

"Thought you didn't get sick?" Erin sass back.

"I don't," he assures her, and his features twist into a smirk. "I just like having you take care of me. Nothing cures all ailments like undiluted soup out of a can."

The comment earns him a roll of the eyes and a light smack of her hand against his chest because she forgot to add a cup of water one time and he's never let her live it down. Yet the fingers that smacked him still as the smirk on his face droops, as her eyes search his for an answer that he's not sure he has to give.

Seven years ago, he would have been drawing too many similarities between Terry and himself and Mouse and the other members of his unit who made it home with limbs and demons attached. And he's not sure how to tell her about that, to let her know about the part of his life that he's tried to put behind him. How to explain that he was too weak to face the third tour that Terry managed, that he ended up falling down a similar hole to the one the Marine is trying to crawl out of.

But he's not that guy. Not anymore. So, instead, he reminds her that six months ago, the two of them would have been running an op to bust up the place that now employs him.

"Well, the brass says this will clear up resources. Let us go after the big fish moving the heavy stuff rather than the backyard growers or those with a couple of plants in their garage like Al," she offers with a shrug and a small smile. The smile falls, though, as she looks up at him, as she sees the way his jaw has become locked. "If you really need the money, Jay, I'm sure something could be-"

"No," he interrupts because his dad's mantra of an honest wage for an honest day's work still screams in his brain despite the years of silence between them. Because he doesn't want to work something out with Voight or the Outfit or whoever helped her cover the down payment on this place. His desire to move, to put down firmer roots in Chicago can wait until he's got the cash in the bank, and he can pick up a couple of shifts protecting weed rather than taking it off the street to make that happen.

"It's not so bad. There are some good folks there. Former military guys."

"Oh,yeah?" Erin questions as she steps out of his embrace, as she jerks her head to the side in a gesture for him to follow her the rest of the way into the apartment. "Anyone you need to buy a toothbrush for? I've got extras."

"A toothbrush?" He questions because he still has no idea what a toothbrush has to do with how they both spent their after-work hours tonight, and the befuddled look on his face was clearly what she was going for because she laughs. Promises to tell him all about it over dinner as she heads back into the apartment towards the living room and he follows to find the food assembled on the coffee table in front of the couch. The cartons of fried rice, lo mein, and kung pao chicken open and plopped next to two bottles of beer and small, empty take away container that he would be willing to bet today's paycheck used to contain egg rolls.

"You ate all the egg rolls?" Jay asks in an exasperated tone as he peels off his coat and drapes it over the side chair.

"Hey, you're the one with the extra paycheck," Erin replies with an unapologetic smirk on her face as she grabs the carton of fried rice - a pair of chopsticks already haphazardly sticking out of the carton - and falls back onto the couch. "You can spring for the extra egg rolls when you've got the munchies."


	17. Talk About It (3x16)

**Author's Note:** This oneshot was written to be inserted in between Jay leading Antonio out of the interrogation room and Atwater informing the victim's father about the status of the case in "The Cases That Need To Be Solved" (3x16).

* * *

The hallway leading from the interrogation room to the bullpen feels longer, narrower than it normally does. The number of doors and, therefore, exits becoming more obvious with every step. And his right hand instinctively curls tighter around Dawson's shoulder. Tries to keep his fellow detective from ducking into a room with a lock or from making a break back towards the interrogation room where the suspect sits mouthing off about how six-year-olds should be targeted. Tries to keep himself from turning around and busting in on Voight's interrogation, from laying into their suspect until he understands that killing a six-year-old - that even witnessing the death of a six-year-old you in a way you can't undo.

So he keeps a tight grip as the two of them step into the bullpen, as he guides Antonio past the desk with pictures of his son, Diego, and past the desk without any pictures towards the breakroom. Hs hold is tossed off with a shake of Dawson's shoulder as he steps through the open door to the break room; his eyes widen with concern as Antonio moves over towards the windows crossing his arms over his chest and refusing to face him.

"You don't kill a six-year-old," Antonio spits out in anger at the windows. Yet his words reach Jay's ears as more of a low, anguished moan, and Jay's eyes immediately slide downward and his chest constricts at the similarity because he's heard this cry before. Heard the cry of a father mourning the fact that he once held a little six-year-old boy's hand in his and marveled at all the promise of the future. Heard the cry of a community mourning the fact that another one was taken from them.

"No matter what, you don't kill a six-year-old," Antonio repeats again and, this time, the anger sharpens his voice. Causes Jay to lift his head as he nods in agreement, as he leans up against the side of the fridge and stares at the at the back of Antonio's head.

And he wonders what he can say to help him out as Antonio begins to move around the room - arms folded across his chest as he stares at the windows and then the sink. What exactly he can say to calm him down and keep him focused on the fact that they got the guy and will be able to get justice for a life snuffed out too early. An outcome that doesn't always happen in the world let alone in the city of Chicago.

"We got the guy."

The words formulating this reminder are clearly the wrong ones because there is a ripple of anger visible in the way Antonio's hand releases its grip on his folded arms to toss up backwards towards him. To offer the back of his hand in a silent pronouncement that Jay should cease talking, cease trying to make a shitty situation okay.

The dismissal is taken with a nod of his head and a shaky exhale of breath, and Jay exits the break room without a backwards glance. His determined strides back to the viewing room with its one way glass stop short at Atwater's desk when he sees Olinsky, Atwater, and Erin moving down that long hallway towards him, and he waits for each of them to pass him by.

Shakes his head side to side when he catches the look in Al's eyes and the nod of his head towards the break room. Feels a ripple of anger tear through him when Atwater informs him that their suspect is pinning the murder on his twelve-year-old brother. And his face takes on the same look of disgust plaguing Erin's as Atwater sinks down into his desk chair and mutters something about how their suspect claims to be strong enough to put out a hit on a kid, but is too weak and scared to face twenty-five to life without parole

"Voight sent Ruzek to pick up the brother with some patrolmen," Erin says after a moment where Jay's eyes meet hers, where the desire to be professional falters at the sight of the tears rimming around the bottom of her eyes. "Uh, he wants us to ride out and inform the parents about the arrests."

"Uh, actually, Lindsay," Atwater interrupts clearing his voice before he lifts his gaze up to stare at the two detectives hovering over his desk. "I'd like to be the one who tells Noah's father."

There's no hesitation on Erin's part when it comes to agreeing because they had all seen the rapport build up between Brian Johnson and Atwater over the time it took to solve this case, but Atwater is already standing with his coat in hand before she can find the words to agree. And the two of them watch him slip out the back entrance to the bullpen before letting their gazes linger on Dawson staring out the window, Olinsky sitting on the couch, and the now shut door to the break room.

Or, at least, that is where Jay's gaze lingers because his head snaps back around at the sound of Erin's voice to find her staring at the picture of Noah Johnson - big smile, sparkling eyes - taped in the middle of whiteboard. Taped right above the photographs of his murder and right between photographs of the man misidentified as his father and the man who actually was.

"Six-years-old and now a twelve-year-old will go down for his murder," Erin says in a low, gravelly whisper as her gaze remains fixated on the board. And his hand moves to touch her elbow, the offer her the kind of support he tried to give to Dawson a few moments ago, and she responds with fingers that slide down along her crossed arms to touch his. To tangle together for a few seconds so she can find the strength to move forward, to take a step away from him and towards her desk to gather coat and her keys and her courage to tell a family the only good news possible in a shitty situation like this.

And he turns on his heels to watch her, to let his gaze linger on her rather than on the board with its photographs and the reminders its triggers in his head. But those reminders cause him to hesitate when she asks if he's ready, cause his head to turn slightly so he can peer at the empty desk with its collection of monitors and computers situated between the hallway to the interrogation room and the main staircase.

"Uh," he drawls out as his head turns back around, as he jerks a thumb over his shoulder to point at the desk behind him, "I need to talk to Mouse real quick."

Her features falter - her eyebrows knitting together in confusion - at his announcement, and he quickly interjects that he'll catch up with her out front in a few. That this conversation shouldn't take too long.

He leaves the elaboration as to how he knows this conversation will be short - how he's not interested in hashing out what happened in Landigal, how he just wants to make sure Mouse is still out in front of whatever Noah Johnson's school photo triggered for him inside his head right now - out his affirmation that he'll be down in a bit. Keeps his gaze neutral as she slips past him and heads towards the stairs, as he hears Al's low voice seeping through the crack under the break room door, as he moves in the opposite direction to grab his coat and head down to the tech lab down in the garage.

The motion activated fluorescent lights overhead flicker on as he steps into the garage, as he carefully moves around the torched SUV that Evidence and Recovered Property haven't come to collect just yet despite him filling out the paperwork as soon as the thing was towed over to the district last night. Chain of command requires a cop to sit with car - in the locked garage or not - and Jay's gaze scans the room to make sure someone is here with it, to make sure Jordan Lockett's lawyer won't be able to get him or his brother off on a technicality.

The beat cop - one of Platt's newest recruits to the District - seems to have, at least, noticed the flickering of the lights because a guy wearing blues - fresh face and bright eyes marking him as fresh out of the Academy - peeps around the corner from where a second break room with vending machines and a table is assembled around the corner and across from the cage. Glances at the badge fixed to Jay's hip before asking if he can help the plain clothes detective with something.

"The tech guy in?" Jay questions gesturing with the hand holding his coat towards the tech lab, towards the area jokingly known upstairs as the mouse hole.

"Uh, no, he split maybe ten, fifteen minutes ago," the officer replies with a frown that deepens when he realizes that Jay isn't going to ask him to help with more than watching the burnt car because the detective has already started to move towards the door leading outside. Mutters a half-hearted thanks and lets the door slam shut behind him before the officer can ask if he needs anything else.

It takes him only a few steps to make his way around the building to the parking lot where the 300 was left earlier in the way and, thus, he is offoreded only a few moments to pull his cell phone out of his pocket and debate what to say.

But he doesn't know what to say. Or, more accurately, he doesn't want to try to find the words to say. And he hopes his attempt at outreach - the squeeze of his hand on Mouse's shoulder earlier - is enough to let his brother in arms know that he gets it. That a six-year-old shot in the head simply because a war raged around him in Chicago is gonna bring up those memories for him, too.

But he also needs the memories of what happened in Landigal to remain behind him so he can do this job. So he can catch those who murder six-year-olds in this portion of the world. And, so, he shoves his cell phone back in his pocket as he wrenches open the passenger door to the 300, as he plops down in the seat and prepares to set out to do his job here after doing his job over there.


	18. Somebody Waiting (3x17)

**Author's Note:** I know a number of people complained about Erin not being in the locker room with Jay during his break down in "Forty Caliber Breadcrumb" (3x17), but I believe that scene is perfect as is for the kind of person Jay is. (At least, in that moment.) Instead, I decided to slot my addendum to the episode in between Jay's fight scene with the suspect, his final conversation with Brianna, and the funeral and examine the someone that Jay says he's got waiting for him.

* * *

The sun had already started to peek through the gaps between the homes lining the street by the time she pulled up in the 300. Her bureaucratic nightmare of calling over to the county to let them city cops would be operating on their turf had ended with the slam of the phone on the receiver when static had come over the airways, when Al's voice requested an ambo be rolled to Intelligence's location. Because it was the second time that week the request had come over the radio for assistance to place where her partner was operating without backup - _her_ backup - and she hadn't waited around for clarification as to whom the ambulance was for. Had grabbed her coat and her keys and hit the gas pedal so hard that Platt would be complaining about skid marks in the District's parking lot for weeks.

Patrolmen from other districts along with those from the county were cordoning off the street with yellow tape and keeping neighbors and gawkers from interfering too much, and it took the flash of her badge to allow them to let her through. To let her slip under the crime scene tape while her eyes scanned the area for the rest of her team, for Olinsky or Ruzek or Voight or someone to give her the nod that meant everything was okay.

Yet none of them seemed to be on hand - at least, not during her initial scan of the area - and the stomach that had jumped into her throat at the sound of Al's voice over the airways does so again when she spots an ambulance - lights still flashing - parked at the other end of the street. The positioning isn't great - she can only see that the ambo's back doors are wide open - and she tries to tell herself that she would have heard a 10-1 call, if the ambo was here for someone other than their suspects. Tries to tell herself -

"Erin." The sound of his voice cuts through it all, and her attention is pulled away from the ambo ahead of her to the open, passenger door of the marked police car parked at her right. A haggard sigh of relief slips past her lips when she spots him sitting in the front seat - his body positioned so his long legs stretch out under the open door - but quick intake of breath follows when she spots the bloody gauze in his right hand being held up to his cheek.

"I'm okay," he promises before she can even get to him, before she can place her right hand over his and insist on pulling back to gauze to check the damage. She does so, anyways. Let's the words she has heard repeated over and over again fall on deaf ears as she gingerly assesses the cut. As she presses her fingers along its edges and wonders aloud if she should take him over to Med to have it checked out.

"I'm ok-"

"It could leave a scar," she interrupts in retort removing her fingers from their tracing exploration of his cheekbone and letting them fall down to press against his chest. To trace the lettering stitched over his Kevlar vest in silence as he murmurs something about how a scar is better than the alternative because she knows that he's falling into the trap of guilt that ensnared them both before. The one that says they aren't allowed to be happy, to be scarfree when someone has taken a bullet or a beating or worse for them.

"Detective?" A voice cuts in, and she steps aside. Drops her fingers and her affection in favor of professionalism as a paramedic she doesn't recognize - not that she should given how far out of the boundaries of Firehouse Fifty-One they are - holds up her kit and offers to take a look at the cut.

And when Jay hesitates, when he starts letting that guilt snare him, she abandons the mask of professionalism once more to shoot him a look. To let the lift of her eyebrows and the sharpness of her eyes push him into allowing the paramedic look him over. To run her gloved fingers where Erin's had just been; to tell him that she can put some salve on it to stop the bleeding long enough for him to finish up here before heading over to Med.

"Lindsay," Olinsky greets sidling up to the patrol car as the paramedic finishes applying the salve to Jay's face. "He good?"

The question is direct at Erin given the way his eyes shift to her as he waits for an answer, but he takes the paramedic's assurance that he'll live and Jay's mutterings about being okay without waiting for hers. Announces that Voight wants him and Halstead to circle back to the District, get their stories straight about the rebar to their suspect's leg before the Ivory Tower starts calling.

And Jay is clambering out of the car before Erin can ask about the story for herself and making his own announcements about how it'll have to be quick because he needs to run by the dispensary before Terry's funeral. Adds the caveat that he just wants to hand in his key and his resignation in a frustrated huff when he spots the way Olinsky has arched his eyebrow in question, in judgement.

But Erin isn't focused on Jay wanting to go over to the dispensary one last time, isn't arching her eyebrow in a told-you-so manner like she she did when Brianna's soon-to-be ex-husband announced that Jay's new boss wanted to sleep with him. Instead, her lips purse together into a frown over the fact that Terry's funeral is today and somehow she didn't know that. Somehow she wasn't clued in on where Jay planned to be later today. And that knowledge causes her to step forward, to call after Jay even though he and Al have started to retreat towards the unmarked vehicles clustered in front of their suspect's house.

Al, for his part, keeps walking as Jay turns back around to face her, as she moves silently towards him with an expression that makes his shoulders slump ever so slightly. Shoulders that slump further when she asks, "Terry's funeral is today?"

"Yeah," he replies softly, and his gaze softens, as well. His eyes shifting downwards as he names the time and the place of the funeral for her.

"Do you want me to meet you there, or-" she begins to question in a soft, gravelly tone that causes his gaze to lift for a split second. To give her a once glance with eyes filled with an amount of hesitation that she isn't accustomed to seeing when it comes to her and him. To them. To their partnership.

But her question is cut off wit the bark of her name, and they both turn to see Voight watching them from the front porch of the suspect's house. To see him glare when Erin gives him a dismissive flick of her wrist and a signal that she'll be there in a minute.

"I can meet you there," she reiterates drawing his attention back to her, "or, since you'll need to change, I can meet you at your place."

There is a long pause where he mulls over her offer, where he grits his teeth and locks his jaw and tries to decide if she's asking him if he wants her there or if she's telling him that she'll meet him at home or at the funeral. Either way, she smiles slightly when he nods his head, when he prefaces that she could be waiting awhile but that he'll leave his apartment key on her desk at the district.

"I don't mind waiting for you," she promises wishing she could reach out and touch him, wishing that she didn't have Voight staring them down and questioning their professionalism. But the promises has the desired effect - the corners of his mouth lifting into a small smile as he nods his head before turning around and moving to rejoin Olinsky - and manages to bolster her as she joins Hank on the porch, as she endures the slightly judgemental looks that question her and her partner and where exactly they're at in light of this case that she refuses to dignify with a response longer than an announcement that she's taking some personal time later this afternoon.

The hours until work ends, until her personal time kicks in are long and tedious. Crime scenes are secured, timelines and stories are straightened, and paperwork is nearly finished when she decides to give up. To take an extra hour as she snatches Jay's keys off his desk, as she stops in the parking lot to grab the black suit she picked up from her place on her way back to the District out the 300 and transfer it to her own car.

It is an easy drive over to Jay's place - the terribleness of the apartment's wall colors made up for by its proximity to work - and she is grateful for that fact because it means she doesn't have a lot of time to contemplate how little she has seen him in the last four days. How trying to solve this case has seemingly kept him afloat, but kept them from dropping the mantra of professionalism for more than a few stolen seconds.

Except she ends up turning that fact over and over in her head when she gets inside his apartment because she does, in fact, end up waiting for him like he said might. Contemplates how they have to carve out time to see one another after work because they keep separate apartments, because her black suit doesn't hang in a closet next to his.

A fact she is reminded of when she goes searching for his after she has pulled on the one she brought with her, when she rifles through his closet to find the one nice suit he owns hanging neatly towards the back of his closet. And she drapes it across the neatly made bed, carefully avoids snagging the hospital corners with the buttons lining the wrists before returning to the closet to find one of his dress shirts to go with it.

She slides past the black dress shirt and the blue one that makes his eyes pop, and then her hand hesitates on the white one because his dry cleaned, Chicago Police dress blues hanging beside it in a clear, plastic bag. And then, just beyond that, is another clear, plastic bag. One that she has to push the white shirt and the uniform she also wears with aside in order to see.

The coloring immediately tips her off as to what is contained inside the bag; she doesn't need his name tag still pinned to the left side of the jacket to tell her that this is Jay's Army uniform. That this is what he wore when he was a Ranger, when he came home and attended the funerals of men he's never told her about beyond passing words about how hard loss can be, how you gotta get out ahead of it before you start taking things out on those who don't deserve it.

And her fingers reach out to touch the badges and the pins and the cords and the emblems through the plastic bag as she wonders what each of them mean because she hasn't seen Justin in his dress uniform enough times to know beyond the obvious shoulder patch marking Jay as a Ranger. As she wonders if Jay will ever tell her because she doesn't know how to ask, how to get him to open up about his time before his stint in Gangs or as a patrolman trying to solve Ben Corson's murder beyond the fact that he and Mouse served together.

Will had tried to tell her months ago, but they had been interrupted and she hadn't followed up. Had wanted to respect that Jay hadn't told her yet, that the animosity between brothers probably existed for a reason she needed to respect. Or, more truthfully, was too busy trying to climb out of her own hole to take on that challenge, too.

And so she had waited. Waited until she found herself standing in his bedroom wondering about things she didn't know, about things that clearly affected him today. Not just with Terry's murder, but with him defaulting to a state where he shouldered it all alone. Where he didn't even tell her about Terry's funeral.

With a sigh and the downward twist of her lips, she gathers the contents of the plastic bag, lifts it off the hanging bar, and carries it over to the bed. Leaves the contents in the bag, but makes sure there are no wrinkles or crinkles causes by its placement on the bed. Stands back and wonders if she should return the black suit to the closet, if she's overstepped a line by pulling out the military uniform when she hears the front door to Jay's apartment open.

The place is small - claustrophobic, really - so he's standing in the doorway of the partially opened pocket doors before she can change her mind and can dash and hidaway the military uniform from his gaze. And so she ends up turning around on the heel of her black boots to face him, to let him focus on something other than her flagrant disregard for his rules about shoes in spaces other than the front hallway of his apartment. Hears the audible catch of air in his throat, but watches it be suppressed behind hardened features.

"I wasn't sure what you'd want to wear."

"It's a military funeral," he reminds her. "I should wear-"

His voice sort of tapers off, but she nods anyways. Moves to scope up the suit and return it to the closet as he steps forward, as he brings his right hand up to unzip and remove the plastic bag. The movement, which she catches out of the corner of her eye, causes the gash on his face to glisten. The low, dim lights of the apartment failing to cast a shadow and hide it from her gaze.

"I stopped at Med before going over to the dispensary," he tells her as though he can read the question on her mind. Can anticipate what she wants to ask as she pulls the folding, closet door shut. "Saw Choi. No stitches. Should heal on its own."

"Good," she replies softly as she turns around to face him and watch him fumble with the buttons on his button-up shirt. His gaze remains fixated on the red and white motorcycle painting above his bed - the one that makes her worry he'll buy one, do something reckless, and end up being the next guy splattered across the pavement that the patrolmen downstairs get called out to do notifications for - but he proceeds to tell her about how he quit his job at the dispensary. How he handed in his key and promised to provide Brianna with a list of names for cops to work her security detail.

Which she knows he'll do because he's Jay and her partner isn't the kind of guy to back out of a promise, but which she also wonders if he'll have a hard time doing. If the guilt of what happened will make him hesitate to approach others at the District looking to make some extra money.

And when he's managed to change shirts, when the black button-up comes off and is replaced with the Army green, she steps forward to press her hand against his chest. To gaze up at him - because there's still a height difference despite the heels on her boots - and tell him, "I'm so sorry about Terry, Jay."

His eyes waver for just a moment, for just long enough that she manages to catch sight of it, and then they're back to the stoicism that came with his assertions that he was okay in the immediate aftermath of the tragedy.

"Yeah," he manages to reply, "me, too".

She offers him a sad smile at that and then offers to duck out of the room, to let him finish getting dressed in peace. An offer he accepts with a single bob of his head and a gaze that lingers on her after she's slipped out between the cracked, sliding doors. And she waits for him just outside his bedroom leaning against the wall he pushed her up against - or, maybe, she backed up against - during their first time and wondering what she can do to help take away his pain. To keep him from falling into the guilt trap like she did; the pull him out of it like he did for her.

The scrap of the pocket doors against the hardwood floor interrupts her muses, though, and she turns her head to see him standing before her in a uniform that she doesn't share. Not in the physical sense. Not in the emotional sense, either.

And neither one of them says anything for a moment as her gaze sweeps over him, as his eyes watch the pattern of hers. But, eventually, she asks if they should get going, reaches for the purse and the coat she left draped over the back of his black couch, and begins moving to the door. Pauses only when she feels Jay's hand brush against hers; his fingers tangling around hers and giving them a tight squeeze that causes her eyes to lift up and meet his.

"Thank you for, uh, waiting and for, uh, being here," he murmurs as the ream of red around the bottom lid of his eyes deepens, and Erin finds herself nodding and murmuring something about always because she can't imagine where else she'd be other than right here. A fact she tries to impress upon him by adjusting the angle of her hand so she's holding his and by refusing to let go from then until the final twenty-one gun salute at Terry's funeral.


	19. Kasual Motherhood (3x18)

**Author's Note:** I couldn't think of a new scene for "Kasual with a K" (3x18) beyond something that is entirely AU to the rest of the episode (let alone the rest of the series) so I decided to take Erin and Jay's final scene and expand it a bit with additional dialogue and some thoughts on Jay's part about what Erin is sharing with him.

* * *

The sound of her voice causes him to whirl around, to twist his neck and stare at her because he hadn't expected to see her at Molly's tonight. Had expected to park himself on a stool making idle chitchat with Doctor Rhodes about their shared victim while he internally stewed on the piece of information she shared about herself with their other victim. Information that he didn't know about despite the fact that he's seen what Bunny does to her, that he knows she went to live with Voight as a teenager, that he's read her file.

"Leave the bottle," she instructs, and the smirking laughter provided by Connor in responses causes Jay to draw his hand to his mouth. To pull at the stubble on his lip with his thumb and his index finger as he wonders if her having access to a whole bottle paid for by someone else's tab is such a good idea. If her adrenaline isn't still at a level where she should be sidelined.

And so he turns to face her, to let his eyes glance up and down in appraisal as she moves to join him on the barstool to his right. But the tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek - pressed so hard to dimples pop along the left side of his mouth - falls to keep his questions in, and the fact that she never told him that she stayed in a shelter comes tumbling out.

He knows immediately that he should have tried harder to keep the question masquerading as a comment to himself because she leans back away from him. Because her mouth gapes and her hands clap and she can't seem to manage more than a 'yeah' in confirmation.

"We don't have to talk about it," he promises because he doesn't want to push her, doesn't want to crowd into the space she afforded him last month when Terry was murdered and Voight sidelined him for a week. A week where she'd stop by his place after work with takeout and the two of them would eat in silence on his couch. A week where he couldn't find the words to answer the questions he knew she had.

But she had shared this piece of information about their with their victim to get her to talk, and now he trails off with a 'but' in the hopes that she'll talk. Because he's been turning it over in his head ever since wondering if her stint in the shelter is why she stands on the other side of the room when they fight. Wondering if Erin letting Bunny back into her life today is because there is still an eleven-year-old inside of her who thinks if she loved her mother more, then she - Bunny _or_ Erin - wouldn't be so-called bad news.

"No, not, it's not a thing. It's not like a bad memory," she promises and yet the sweep of her eyes up to the ceiling clues him in that her statement may not be entirely true. That this is a memory she has to search her brain for because she's kept it locked away for some time.

"Um, it was summer. Air conditioner rattled a lot. It was, like, right next to my bed," she adds with a sad shake of her head. With a long pause that allows his brain to jump to its own conclusions, to remember. one night last year when they were sneaking around as a heat wave swept through Chicago.

A night where she had taken one look at the creaky, old window air conditioning unit he keeps in the bottom of his closet during the off-season and insisted on them going back to her place. How she had given him a tight smile - a smirk, he thought at the time - when he made fun of her for springing for central air conditioning for the two months a year the heat became unbearable. How he had been coy about having his own place to cool down when she'd commented on hearing him complain about the heat in the 300 last summer because he was already thinking about Wisconsin in August with her.

"Bunny forgot my first day of school," she informs him, and this time her gaze darts over to him. Gives him a small nod and an upward gesture of her hands because, honestly, it is not like this bit of information is surprising to either of them. And then her gaze sweeps upward - the smallest smile on her face - as she continues, "So the lady that ran the place, she walked me all the way there. She held my hand the whole way."

The comment causes his frown to deepen because that shouldn't have been a one-off for her. Because no matter how bad things got with his dad, he always had his mom to walk him and Will to school on their first day of school. To clutch onto their hands long after it stopped being cool - a moment he remembers hitting way before turning eleven - so they were consigned with the label of 'Mama's Boy' by schoolyard bullies. By their dad, too, when he'd come downstairs to find their mom had made blueberry pancakes and smoked trout - Will and his favorites, respectively - instead of Pat Halstead's standard biscuits and gravy for breakfast in honor of their first day of school.

"Actually drove by there a couple weeks ago," Erin says interrupting his thoughts, and he watches as she keeps her gaze fixated on the bar counter. Watches a smile slip across her face as his own deepens further into a frown and his eyebrows pitch upward in surprise. "And I saw her and she was walking another little girl to school."

"She recognize you?"

Once again, the question comes tumbling out because despite how many years he's been on his job and how many victims and their families that's he has dealt with and how unlikely it is that anyone in this field of work can remember everyone, he hopes that she did. That this woman who offered Erin a safe haven for three months, who was likely the first - and, likely only - person to walk her to school still remembers Erin as fondly as Erin does her.

"I don't know. I didn't stop."

The reply causes his head to nod, to move slowly because he thinks he gets it. Understands not wanting to ruin a good memory with the possibility of rejection. And he finds himself reaching for the bottle of alcohol and pouring her a shot despite his earlier uncertainty because he gets that, too. Understands - as a cop - the desire to forget a shitty day where the case hit too close to home with a drink and understands - as a person - the desire to forget a shitty memory that you've just been forced to share with a drink.

And all Erin does in reply is raise her eyebrow, lift her hands up in a gesture that seems to say it is what it is as she watches him set the bottle aside. As she holds his gaze and waits for him to take another swig from his beer bottle before lifting the shot to her lips and taking a sip rather than knocking it back. An action that surprises him, that causes him to set the beer bottle aside because maybe the conversation about this part of her life isn't entirely over.

"Did Voight's wife ever walk you to school?"

"Camille?" Erin questions and this time a smile - a real one that causes her dimples to pop - appears on her face as she sets the three-quarters full shot glass back down on the bar.

"Yeah," Jay replies before offering his own smile, before dropping his voice into a teasing tone as he questions if she was too busy playing undercover for that. And if the fact that he remembers their first real conversation about her past where she told him about her ruse for the bitchy rich girls at her school surprises her, she doesn't show it as she shakes her head side to side.

"Voight drove me for the first couple of months. Camille, she, uh, she wasn't too thrilled about me moving in at first. Had her hands full with Justin and then I came along," Erin replies with a small shake of her head. "But, uh, for my first day back after Christmas break, she made me a special breakfast. Pancakes - blueberry and apple - waffles, eggs, bacon, and sausage because she didn't know what I liked best."

"You must have given her some Christmas present," he says, and she nods ever so slightly. Takes another sip of her shot and keeps it clutched in her hand even after she's set it back down on the bar as she explains how it was actually Camille who gave her the Christmas present. How she had come home after school - breaking dress code, of course - to find Camille sitting in the living room with a dress from Marshall Fields.

"She used her Christmas money to buy me that dress," Erin says softly before knocking back the remaining alcohol in her shot glass, and he finds himself reaching out to curl his hand around her left hand when the empty shot glass makes it way back to the bar.

And the touch causes Erin to turn towards him, to shift her gaze to meet his again because they're still figuring out how to manage the professional and the personal at a place frequented by their coworkers and their colleagues. But she doesn't pull away when he gives her hand a squeeze. A fact his is grateful story because while he didn't know the dress part of her story, he gets this loss. Understands what it is like to lose a mom who uses her Christmas money to buy something special for her kids to cancer.

"My mom used to make us blueberry pancakes for our first day, and she'd get us trout from Calumet's."

The second part of his comment causes her to wrinkle her nose in disgust because his attempt to introduce her to his favorite food at one of his favorite places in Chicago hadn't gone well. About the only part of that dinner she had enjoyed were all the childhood stories Will shared with her.

"Thank god, Camille, didn't do that. It was apple pancakes for my first day until I graduated from the Academy," she informs him with that real smile again, and he can't help but mimic her. To smile over the fact that Erin had someone in her life to hold her hand and walk her to school and someone else to make her something special on her first day of school. That Erin had people who weren't Bunny, who were more than merely casual about their role as Mom in her life. And that is a fact he decides he can drink to as he takes advantage of Rhodes' open tab and pours them both a shot.


	20. Hard Not Easy (3x19)

**Author's Note:** This chapter is set at the end of "If We Were Normal" (3x19). Please note that the rating jumps to M for this chapter.

* * *

Her lips press against his collarbone; her nose nuzzles against the soft patch of skin where his neck slopes down to meet his shoulder bone. And his hips move rhythmically against hers one last time as unintelligent mumblings slip past his lips, as he reaches the logical conclusion of what she started back at Molly's when she mentioned an unopened box at home.

She plants another kiss - her lips savoring the salty taste of his skin - and waits for him to move away. To roll to the right and slump backwards into the mattress rather than slumping down on her because he never lets her hold him that way. Never lets his weight press her into the mattress or her hands spread across his back for longer than necessary.

Always pulls away to take a moment to catch his breath and clean up the mess he's made before returning to her, before letting his hand curl around her waist and her head rest against his chest as they drift off to sleep. Always pulls away before turning to cuddle.

And so she doesn't bother trying to dig her fingers into his back or employing some other tactic to get him to stay. Merely presses another kiss against his skin - this time, against the line delineating his muscles of his chest - when he pushes up on his left hand and slides his right down - fingers ghosting over her skin - to where they are joined. Curls his fingers around himself to make sure the condom comes out with him - the least sexiest move in his repertoire and yet one of those that makes her feel the safest.

One that reminds Erin that the trust she places in Jay - on the job, at home, in the bedroom - is well founded and deserved. One that shows her how his diligence says more about him and his protection of their relationship than any kind of commentary about her and the bad news of her past that her mind might dredge up because he always punctuates it with a kiss to her lips and words whispered against the skin of her lips and her cheek about how he'll be right back.

And, truth be told, she doesn't mind the view as she watches him walk out of her bedroom. As she stretches out her legs and surveys the damage done. The metallic tank top and the two pair of jeans tossed on the floor; the pile of pillows congregating over by the window thanks to the bounce of her body against the mattress and the swipe of her hand as she searched blindly for the headboard.

There is the tiniest twinge of a muscle spasm as she slides her legs over the edge of the bed, as she moves to stand up and retrieve some of those pillows, but it's the good kind of twinge. The kind that brings a blissful smile to her face as she bends down to gather up the jeans and the tank top and toss them onto the chair near the open-aired entry to her bedroom. As she walks around the bed to gather four of the pillows laying on the floor to her chest in order to hide them in the closet.

Her plan to hide her crazy concluded with the rattling slide of the folding door to her closet and the sound of Jay's footsteps on the hardwood floor behind her, and she turns to see him stepping across the threshold of her bedroom with boxers she didn't know he retrieved from the floor slung low on his hips. Her arms instinctively move to cross over her breasts, and his left eyebrow pitches upward in a questioning reply as he moves across the room to join her. Slides his hands around her waist and then across her backside so her arms have no choice but to fall, to release and rest against his as her hands move to grip his shoulders and her feet lift ever so slightly onto their tiptoes.

"So," he draws out in a breathless voice glancing at the shut closet door behind her before snapping his attention back to her face, her neck, her naked breasts, "are you gonna show me that new outfit?"

"Hmm," Erin murmurs quipping on eyebrow up and twisting her smile into a smirk as her gaze darts down to look at the non-tented portion of his boxers. "I suppose we need something to do while you're in between rounds."

A tiny squeal escapes when he pulls her closer to him, when his right hand slides down from the small of her back to playful swat against her ass as he growls something about showing her what they can do while in between rounds. But Erin uses the leverage afforded her by the placement of her hands around his shoulders to push Jay backwards, to extradite herself from his grasp and watch surprise, rejection, and then excitement flicker across his face as she tells him to go wait out in the living room.

The box is stashed away on the top shelf of her other closet - the one closest to the bed - and her rummaging around for it is echoed by the sound of him rummaging around in her fridge. The squeaky groan of the bifolding door masked by the sound of the refrigerator door slamming shut; the straining gasp as she moves to her tiptoes to grab the box off the top shelf covered up by the clink of a beer bottle cap hitting her granite countertops. And the box is deposited on the mussed sheets of her bed right as she figures Jay is dropping himself into a seated position on her couch because, some days, she thinks he loves that couch more than she does.

The white, unassuming box doesn't bear the label of the expensive, lingerie store she found herself in one Monday afternoon when their case closed quickly and she was the only one in the unit who didn't have a mound of paperwork to sort though. The store where her right fingers ran over a myriad of colors and fabrics before stopping on a piece of white lace - muscle memory recalling other memories - and her left fingers went slipping into her back pocket to retrieve her credit card.

Tonight, the lace feels cool and surprisingly soft against her still flushed skin and still firing nerve endings as she pulls it up her legs, as she settles the waistband low on her hips. Far lower than the cotton panties she chooses for her day to day - because the last thing she needs when chasing a suspect is chaffing - normally sit. Far more intricately cut than the lace sets she keeps in her dresser drawers to wear under pantsuits at the courthouse or dresses while undercover or dress blue for appearances at the Ivory Tower or for showing up at Jay's apartment when they don't - and do - work together

"Is this is an outfit or an outfit outfit?" Jay calls out from the living room as she's pulling the bra top over her head, and Erin shakes her head side to side because he's terrible with surprises. Terrible at planning them for her and at letting others plan them for him. Always wants a hint or a clue; always such a detective.

"Think you decided what's what when you rushed us out of Molly's before I finished my beer," she pointedly reminds him as she reaches behind her back to fashion the last clasp. And she ignores his frustrated sigh, his request for a small hint as she moves around the bed to examine herself in the full length mirror. Runs a hand over the taut skin of her belly and turns around to check the back, to make sure the straps crisscrossing her back are laying flat against her skin.

And only when she's satisfied, when she's torn the tags off the outfit with her bare hands does she step out of the bedroom and into the living room. As she watches Jay be fully surprised by her appearance - eyes widening, beer dribbling unsexily down his chin because he's stopped keeping his lips pressed against the raised bottleneck.

"That -" Jay sputters as the beer bottle falls from his lips to rest against his knee, as his eyes widen further like he's trying to soak in every aspect of the outfit. Trying to get his brain to register what his eyes are seeing - the tiny scrap of fabric masquerading as a full pair of panties, the white lace up top that is playing peekaboo with her nipples. "That's not an outfit."

"Nope," she replies with a shake of her head and the pop of 'p' before she steps towards him, before she moves to stand in front of the couch within an arm reach of him.

Erin isn't surprised when she feels his right hand ghosting over the fabric situated just below her hip bone nor is she surprised when he begins tugging her downward. Her legs more instinctively to straddle him, to press her knees against the cushions of the couch while her hands slide up his arms to his shoulders to cradle his head. And the cold beer bottle is pressed against her back - a shiver running down her spine - for the briefest of moments as Jay passes it from one hand to the next and then blindly places it on the table beside her couch.

Yet another shiver runs down her spine when Jay begins feathering kisses down the valley between her breasts, when his hot mouth encircles the right nipple as it peeps out from behind the lacey overlay. And she momentarily doesn't register what he's saying when he pulls away and colder air hits her heated skin sending another shiver down her spine.

"Huh?" She questions inquiring more about why he pulled away than what he was trying to tell her, and she frowns when his only reply for a moment is a chuckle and the feeling of his left hand leaving her hip.

"You were right," he informs her, and her eyelids flutter open immediately so she can look down at him. So she can soak in a moment where he admits something that he often tries to deny. "If you had told me about this _outfit_ -"

She shifts ever so slight against him, against the spot that currently isn't tented but soon will be, and her movements effectively cut him off. Cause the words to die on his lips so that his only response for a moment comes as the trace off his fingertips over the lace pattern on her right breast.

"Christ, Erin," Jay groans. "This-this is not professional."

"No," she agrees shifting again in attempt to get his fingers to move closer to her nipple. Yet all she manages is another groan from his lips and a reminder that he may no longer be in between rounds. Because the heat radiating from between her legs isn't just coming from her; because she brushed up against something hard with the shift of her weight from one knee to the other.

"But-" Her comment falters when his lips wrap back around her chilled, raised nipple. The fog that fills her brain so all she can think about is him and her and trying to reach some kind of release together starting to encroach. Dissipates for the briefest of seconds when his mouth leaves her so she can continue, "But Burgess thinks we are. Says she forgets that we're dating because we make it look so easy."

"Hmm," he murmurs as he moves to feather tiny bites against the smooth skin near the shoulder strap of her new outfit. Her gasp becoming amplified as he flexes his hips upward into her so she can feel him. "Not easy. Hard."

The double innuendo causes her to roll her eyes - or, maybe the roll comes from the fact that he's slipped his right hand under the band of her panties and his fingers are sliding downward to touch her - but she finds herself muttering some kind of agreement because there's nothing easy about this.

Hard to remain professional at work while being so personally invested; hard to keep from making the suggestive comments one could make if they weren't riding around in a car or sitting across the bullpen from one another. Harder still to be the voice of reason - because it truly is insane to date your partner - when it means she gets to go home with a man who gets excited over something as simple as white lace. A man who makes her feel safe and appreciated and respected - on the job, in the bedroom, on the couch - because he wants to know the one thing that's hard about dating your partner so he can address it. Because he'll take a second round out here, but end the night cuddling her close and pressing sleepy kisses to the top of her head as they fall asleep.


	21. Glad You Weren't As Bad a Mom (3x20)

**Author's Note:** My biggest complain about this episode was the brief moment out on the sidewalk in front of their suspect's house where Erin tells Jay that parents like the ones they just interviewed make her want to send a greeting card to Bunny. His reply about there being a whole section called "Glad You Weren't As Bad of a Mom As I Thought" took me by surprise because Bunny is pretty high up on the bad list to me, and I thought Jay, at least, would be in agreement on that. So, I tried to explore why both he and Erin might feel that way given what we know about Bunny and yet don't know about Jay's parents as well as explain why they were missing from so many full unit scenes in this episode. This addendum is set immediately before they give Tana Meyer's parents a visit during "In a Duffel Bag" (3x20).

* * *

The long, skinny French fry falls back onto the red, plastic tray as she pushes the small bite she managed to take into her cheek and tries to suppress a distasteful look from flicking across her face. She's barely managed to pick at her food this afternoon, to swallow small bites of the burger and fries set out on the table before her because she should be out there. Should be chasing leads and tracking down each person in their new suspect's sexual history in order to check alibis and run DNA tests.

But Hank had told them to sit tight, to use the brief lull in the case to grab something to eat while he went at their suspect. Tried to ascertain why a guy from Rockford would care for a baby - his daughter - for two weeks only to dump her out by the Chicago lakefront; tried to ascertain why a guy from Rockford would deny knowing about the existence of his child.

"He may not have known," her partner replies. His words startle her slightly because she hadn't meant to utter her musings out loud, and her gaze darts up from the red, plastic tray in front of her to look at him. To take in the fact that Jay has barely touched the hamburger he ordered because, like her, he's been too busy mulling over the few facts they have about this case.

Or, more likely, too busy mulling over how much this case has her on edge. The look that passed between Voight and him when she returned from talking to Platt about the Wisconsin Dells and the status of their victim, the decision that she and Halstead would be the first to grab lunch today while Al and Ruzek brought in their suspect was pretty much a dead giveaway about the two of them being in cahoots.

And that fact would normally piss her off, would have her insisting that she was fine and needed to stick around for when their suspect came in, but she decided to adopt Platt's attitude of stopping while she's ahead and take a break from sitting in a chair with photos of duffle bags and pink blankets tapped up over her left shoulder. A break from reminders that a child can be loved and well-cared for and tenderly wrapped up in a blanket one day and end up clinging to life at Chicago Med the next.

"You'd know if you had a baby," she retorts knowing how ridiculous her words sound the moment they leave her mouth. But it's too late for her to take them back, and Jay's already raising one eyebrow at her and drawing out a long 'o' in the first word of his rebuttal.

"No, you'd know," he pointedly reminds her with a shake of his head and a hand reaching out to pick up the fork on the right-hand side of his tray. "There's no sign that would tell him, hey, that girl you hooked up with, she's pregnant."

"There is if you don't use a condom," she bites back - her tone far harsher than she intended for this conversation - as she watches her almond milk drinking partner stab at the pitiful pieces of lettuce he ordered instead of fries.

His eyes flicker upward to meet hers at her words, and the way he looks at her is a nonverbally reminder of how he knows that. How they've been monogamous for months now but each still keeps condoms on their shopping list because neither one of them is ready to add a baby into this partnership. Not right now. Not when they both know Daniel will run her ragged after just a few hours when Justin and Olive bring the baby up to visit Hank later this week.

"He'd still need her to tell him," Jay replies before popping the fork and the lettuce attached to it into his mouth. He takes a moment to chew, to let her mull over his words before forcing himself to swallow and racing to elaborate on what he means. To cut her off before this conversation - one centered on the case, but quickly becoming more abstract - can turn into an argument that attracts the attention of those few patrons who aren't already openly staring at the star badges clipped to their belts. "And maybe she had a reason not to. Wanted to protect her baby from him."

His comment causes her to pause because she knows what he's trying to get at, knows from the sort of teasing and sort of serious look on his face that he's thinking of the hot date she blew him off for two nights ago. Although, sitting in the stands with only watery hot chocolate and Annie's body pressed up against her while they watched Travis' team get their asses handed to them by a wealthier team from the other side of town doesn't exactly count as hot in her book.

And Annie had kept Travis' existence a secret for years in order to protect herself, her best friend, and her son from his father. A secret that Erin, in hindsight, should have kept as well for all the interest and good Charlie has taken or done in Travis' life.

But, if that was their mystery mother's aim here, then she was clearly keeping the wrong person in the dark because their suspect was adamant that he didn't know and that tiny, two-week-old baby - his daughter - still ended up in a duffle bag with no signs of life.

"Some people just aren't meant to be parents," Jay adds after a long pause, and she finds herself nodding along in agreement almost immediately because he's not wrong.

Because there are parents like Annie and Olive who rise to the occasion and get themselves and their children out of bad situations. Parents like Hank and Camille who see their children - biological or not - as something worth sacrificing for and are brave and kind and unselfish in all the years it takes to raise them. And then are also parents like Bunny who are sober and then aren't, who run thorough men and lose track of their kids in the wake of an unstable home life.

Parents who, she finds herself conceding, are shitty and selfish and weak, but don't purposefully leave their two-week-old baby out in the cold to die. And she opens her mouth to vocalize that, to let Jay know that for all the shit her mother put her and Teddy through as they were growing about, Bunny wasn't as bad as Baby Doe's mother.

But the rebuttal dies on her lips because Jay's eyes have narrowed, because he's looking at her with that mixture of pity and frustration and concern that she sees every time Bunny comes up. A look that she has grown to loathe because she knows it means he has adopted Hank's view about Bunny being a cancer in her, knows this conversation will end with her reminding Jay that Bunny is her mom and Jay reminding her that Bunny will never change. That the best thing she can do is cut Bunny out of her life, which is, apparently, the position he's taken with his dad.

Not that she's learned that information from Jay. Rather, all she's had to go on is hints and clues and overheard chastisements from Will that are cut off mid-sentence when she approaches his and Jay's table at Molly's leaving her with little understanding as to the whys and the whens as they pertain to Jay's relationship with his father.

The whys and the whens that clearly serve as the foundation of his belief that people cannot change despite the evidence they see in this job - rarely, but enough - showing otherwise. Despite the fact that he rides around with her - an addict, a woman who was once a fifteen-year-old headed down a path where she was likely to end up dead or with a kid or two calling her mom before she turned eighteen - all day and sleeps next to her at night and relies on her to have his back twenty-four seven.

"I doubt your mom and dad would have dumped a baby out by the Lake," Erin retorts. She allows herself to push against a topic that's been off-limits, to use today's nightmare scenario in defense of both a parent she knows and parents she doesn't.

There's a long pause while she waits for his answer. One that leaves her wondering if she's pressed on a nerve she didn't know existed, if it's possible that things in Canaryville were worse than those on her side of town. But Jay eventually hums out his agreement telling her that his parents would never have been as bad as their current suspect or Baby Doe's unidentified mother. Words that she barely catches over the sound of the ringing phone in her pocket.

The flash of Dawson's name on the screen causes her to sigh because maybe that was an opening with Jay, but the way his features smooth out and then harden as she answers the call and the way he begins to gather up their trays without waiting for to answer the phone tells her that door or window or whatever she wants to call it into Jay's past wasn't really open.

And so, instead, she focuses on the update - that Baby Does' mother has been identified as an eighteen-year-old named Tana Meyer - and the instructions to check in with the baby's grandparents that Dawson is giving her. Gathers up the car keys and prepares to confront the kind of parents who helped their daughter care for her infant for two weeks yet turned a blind eye when - or worse, helped - their daughter put their granddaughter in a duffel bag and dumped that baby like a piece of garbage. The kind of parents who are than Bunny and Jay's parents; the kind of parents that don't deserve to walk free while their granddaughter clings to life.


	22. Not All Cops (3x21)

**Author's Note:** This scene is set immediately after ADA Stone confronts Burgess with the video of her and Roman touching during "Justice" (3x21).

* * *

He reaches for the hand towel tossed over his shoulder at the sound of the knock on his front door; wipes the small slivers of red onion from his fingers onto the red and white checkered cloth at the the sound of the front door being pushed open and her voice softly calling out his name. His kitchen is small enough that she has nearly traversed its linoleum floor - boots still on rather than lined up neatly by the front door - in the amount of time it takes him to announce where he is.

Her hand slides across the small of his back when she reaches him - the sound of the refrigerator door being yanked open cutting off the final syllable of her name as it rolls off his tongue - and he slides his gaze from the chopped yellow onion and the unchopped green bell pepper and zucchini on the cutting board in front of him to watch her head disappear into the depths of his fridge out his peripheral vision.

"Wine is over by the microwave for you," he announces watching the bounce of her hair as she turns her head to look out over her shoulder, eyeing the flash of skin over the waistband of her jeans before she straightens.

"I'm getting you wine glasses for your birthday," she informs him after slamming the fridge shut, and he doesn't bother to glance over at the microwave where nearly half a bottle of merlot - leftover from Olinsky's visit after Jay's foray into private security - has been poured out into two round bottom, whisky glasses. Merely grumbles something about his glasses working just fine as he picks the knife up in his right hand once more while her boots tread less than lightly on the linoleum as she moves across the small kitchen to retrieve the glasses.

One of the glasses is deposited on the counter in front him; left amid the assortment of spices and oils assembled in order to make their dinner. The other glass is clutched in her left hand and ends up pushed against his shoulder blade through the fabric of his dark blue Henley as she presses her body into his in an attempt to peer over his shoulder and ascertain what exactly is for dinner.

"Tuscan sausage linguine," he announces before she can ask, before she can stop him from making quick work of chopping up the zucchini with the suggestion that they go out and grab a burger or something else.

He's a better cook than she is. Better at following a simple recipe than she is at following the instructions on the frozen, so-called healthy meals she keeps in her freezer; better at sneaking fresh vegetables and whole grains into her diet than she'd like. Occasionally, Erin will try to weasel out of having these healthy dinners in favor of a combo or takeout Chinese or wings and beers at Molly's, saying she needs more sustenance and calories for later with her house husband than his limited repertoire of home cooked meals can provide.

But after these last few weeks - after their fellow cop was shot point blank in his squad car, after Stone and the rest of the city they swore to protect and serve suggested that cop's partner should be charged - he needs to be home tonight. Needs to eat something that he won't have to burn off with an early morning session at Antonio's gym; needs to spend the night in a place where he won't be confronted with signs proclaiming Ellis' innocence and Burgess' guilt.

And Erin seems to get that tonight - or, at least, knows that this pasta dish is one of her favorites from what he's cooked for her - because her right hand gives his right bicep a squeeze and a kiss is pressed to the skin just below his earlobe after she whispers words about it smelling good directly into his ear. Her body extracts from his, and her back falls against the closed refrigerator door with a sigh, with the lift of the makeshift wine glass to her lips.

"Burgess doing okay?" Jay questions as he scrapes his knife along the cutting board and pushes the zucchini into a smaller pile in order to create space for him to chop up the green pepper.

He had hoped to avoid the topics of Burgess and Roman and Black Lives Matter for one night - the kitchen already a tight squeeze with him and her without adding in the baggage of Burgess-Roman-Ruzek and the mixed emotions about a chant setting the city on fire - but he's started to pick up on the visual and audio clues of when she wants to talk and when she doesn't. So he asks; listens to her noncommittal hum and then her committal, verbal response in the negative as he works at slicing the bell pepper into small slivers.

"Stone called her down to the DA's office today."

"She take her FOP rep with her?" Jay inquires because he knows how this goes, knows how quickly the District Attorney and the Ivory Tower will move to jam up a good cop who has been cast under a suspicious cloud in order to keep public opinion on their side.

And Burgess, so far, has gotten a good deal - a fair deal, a deal that wasn't offered to him when he was suspected of murdering Lonnie Rodiger - from the union. Stripped of her badge and her gun, but set up to ride a desk in a semi-civilian, semi-police administrative position with full pay and full pension accrual until the DA gets his verdict on two counts of attempted murder on a police officer.

But that deal could change with her speaking to Stone or anyone on his team without her FOP rep at hand, with her putting herself in yet another position where it is her word against someone else's. A fact that Jay has tried to stress to Burgess through Erin; advice he knows the now former patrolman isn't taking by the way Erin skips over his question in her reply.

"Stone's got video of her and Roman and the shooting," Erin informs him and, for a split second, he thinks this may be good news. Thinks that maybe Ellis' face is visible on the footage, which would place him at the scene with the gun and seal his conviction.

But the twinge of frustration in Erin's gravelly voice, the way she slipped into his apartment and is slouched over against his fridge sipping down wine tells him this isn't a moment of jubilation. A moment where he and the rest of the CPD don't sound like naive fools for working under the banner chant of 'Not All Cops'.

And so he doesn't bother to ask if Ellis is shown clear as day on the footage; continues to finish up his slicing work with the knife as Erin explains that Burgess said the video showed her and Roman expressing affection for one another. He only stops, only sets the knife aside and turns to stare at her when her voice becomes low and full of disgust when she explains that Stone asked if Burgess was thinking like a cop or thinking with her crotch.

"Was she?" The question causes all the fire in her voice to move to her gaze, to move to the eyes that shift from a spot on the living room wall just beyond the kitchen in order to stare at him. To make it clear that this is not the time for him to get stupid on her or become one of those old timers who think women are too weak and too focused on finding a man to wear the badge.

Which isn't at all what he means to suggest with his question and, frankly, isn't anywhere near as bad as what any half-decent defense attorney will suggest when the case makes it to trial. But there is some truth to Stone's statement.

Truth he tried to point out to her weeks ago at Molly's when Erin said Burgess was interested in her partner yet insisted a Burgess-Roman-Ruzek triangle would be PG-13 at worse rather than the horror movie. Truth she had to accept when the rumor mill infiltrated the bullpen upstairs and they all learned that Ruzek went off on Roman about wanting to date Burgess when asked about a laptop. Truth Erin, clearly, doesn't want to give credence to tonight.

"She and Roman were ambushed," Erin snaps back in reply. "You said it yourself, in those conditions - forty yards, low light - she made a nice shot."

"She did," he agrees without hesitation because what he told Burgess at the scene of the crime was true. Because he was impressed by her ability to take down the suspect in those conditions with only her service weapon. Because he thought maybe in that moment she needed a reminder that she did good, that she protected her partner and herself.

But he knows that toeing the line of professionalism day in and day out is hard, that focusing on an empty stretch of road late at night is difficult when your partner - the one you go home with at the end of the day - is sitting right next to you. And he also knows - thanks to Erin's tidbits of information over drinks at Molly's, thanks to his own eyes and ears and razor sharp mind - that carrying on that level of professionalism is hard for Burgess and Ruzek and Roman. That no one in the district can honestly say that they forget who Burgess is dating the same way they forget about Lindsay and Halstead.

"But it's not gonna look good for her if she and Roman were making out in the-"

"They weren't making out," Erin interrupts pushing herself away from the fridge - away from _him_ \- and stopping over towards the small stand where the microwave sits near the entryway to his kitchen. For a brief second, he thinks that maybe she's planning on leaving, planning on forging his cooking and his company for a combo and some silence.

Yet, Erin stops just short of the exit to the kitchen and swipes the bottle of wine from the rack on the second shelf below the microwave. Pops the cork off and refills her half-full glass while grumbling about how Burgess only reached out to touch Roman's cheek, how that's far more chaste than what she does to Jay in the 300 when they think no one is looking.

That comment, though, causes his right eyebrow to pitch upward, and he rolls his hip against the counter until his back is pressed up against it. Until the cut up vegetables and the diced tomatoes simmering in a pot on the stove are forgotten as he crosses his arms, as he challenges her on the falseness of her statement.

"I keep it professional," he rebukes. "I may make a comment or two in the car or in the break room, but I don't kiss you or touch you or-"

"Don't I know it," she sasses, and it takes him a moment to realize that she's trying to defuse the situation. That she is trying to make a joke, to make him forget about the accusation that she lobbed at the two of them with a smirk half-hidden behind her makeshift wine glass.

There's a moment where he considers giving into the shift in the conversation, considers letting the teasing comment replace the accusation that neither of them can afford to have anyone charge at them. Because, right now, they've got Voight turning a blind eye and, according to Burgess, the rest of the district forgetting they're together, which keeps the Ivory Tower out of their personal business, but if this video, if this horror movie sinks the case against a suspected cop killer? He'll be lucky if the union can snag him an administrative position following his ejection from Intelligence.

There is a heavy sigh as Erin takes in the look on his face and the tightening biceps of his folded arms, as he watches the realization that she's struck a nerve that cannot be soothed by suggestive comments register on her face. And another heavy sigh comes as the nearly empty wine bottle is placed on top of the microwave, as Erin darts her gaze from him to the floor to the glass in her hand with a small shrug of her shoulders.

"Burgess is a good cop," Erin states, and Jay offers verbal agreement in reply because he's seen the beat cop in action, seen her comeback from taking a shotgun blast to the head and neck, and he has no reason to doubt the validity of Erin's statement. Doesn't feel any need to go looking for one; doesn't want to be just another guy looking for a way to jam her up like Jefferies and Stone. "She apprehended her suspect just as she was trained to do. She probably saved Roman's life. Again."

There's a long pause where the 'but' to her statement lingers in the air, where Jay finds himself reaching out blindly beside him to turn off the stove because this isn't going to be some quick and easy conversation that'll end before he needs to stir the tomatoes. And eventually it comes with a flash of anger in Erin's eyes and a rough edge to her voice.

"But she's also a female cop, and there are people out there - her fellow cops, DAs, the public - who will say she shouldn't be out there. That she's too busy being a Badge Bunny to protect and serve this city. That she killed an innocent, unarmed black kid because her emotions got the best of her."

There a parts of her statements that he could correct because they have video showing that unarmed black kid tossing a gun and they have years of experience as detectives telling them that innocent black kid tried to murder two cops sitting in their cop car. But there are other parts of statements that he cannot correct because they are true.

Because he's served along side guys in the Gang Unit who saw female police officers as nothing more than tail to chase; because he's already heard whisperings about Burgess and Roman and Ruzek in the locker room. Whisperings that grew louder after Ruzek's blow up in front of Platt's desk when asked about a misplaced laptop.

"Yeah," he agrees after a short pause, "people are going to say that about her and that sucks. But, Erin, you aren't Burgess."

"Doesn't matter," Erin corrects with a shake of head. "One lady cop represents all lady cops."

Deep down, he knows there is some validity to her assertion. That as much as he and every other cop tries to assert that not all cops are racist or hold little value for black lives, a perception of all rather than a few still permeates the force when it comes female police officers. That Erin may be the toughest cop he knows and Burgess may have all sorts of commendations, but some of the guys from his old unit still offered condolences when they heard the gender of his partner when he first moved over to Intelligence.

But he also doesn't know how to change that perception beyond making sure that he keeps it professional, that he doesn't act around Erin the way Ruzek or Roman act around Burgess, that he tries not to give anyone any reason to see Erin as less than equal to him. And all his statements to that effect manage only to bring a small, sad smile to her lips and a soft acknowledgment of how she knows that because him and his approach to their relationship is why she couldn't tell Burgess not to date her partner.

There is a lull in the conversation - silence rapidly filling small kitchen - as he struggles to find the right words to respond to that statement. As his brain refuses to settle on whether or not he should be trying to absolve her from any guilt she may be feeling by saying he would have given Burgess the same answer for the same reason. But his opportunity to decide is taken by rather sudden inquiry on her part into how long until dinner is ready.

"Uh," Jay replies glancing over his shoulder at the pot of tomatoes cooling to room temperature on the unlit stove and the assemblage of half-prepped ingredients on the counter behind him. "Thirty, thirty-five minutes."

"Ok," Erin murmurs as she takes a sip of her wine. The glass joins the bottle on top of the microwave after a second swig, and her free hand slips into her pocket to retrieve her phone from the back pocket of her jeans. And she holds it up, offers him a nod of her head towards the clock on the stove as she announces that she's going to give Platt a call. "I think it would be good if she and I drove Burgess to the courthouse when she's called to testify. Show her some solidarity."

"Yeah," he agrees with the nod of his own head, and Erin offers him yet another small smile in reply when he informs her that he and the rest of the unit will be there, too. That he and Mouse, Voight and Dawson, Atwater and Ruzek all plan to be seated in the first two rows behind the prosecutor when that day comes.

He waits a moment after she's walked out of the kitchen and into the living room before turning around, before reigniting the stove and reaching for the spoon in the top drawer beside the stove in order to stir the tomatoes. But the sound of Erin's boots hitting the linoleum again causes him to turn around, to watch hesitation spread across Erin's features as she says his name in a cautious tone.

"Maybe don't tell Ruzek about the video? Burgess doesn't need another unprofessional blow up right now."

Her request is a crazy, stupid idea because they both know the video will be entered into evidence. That Ellis' attorney will try to use it against Burgess and the State's case the same way Stone tried to use it against Burgess today. But he agrees because this - him and her standing in his kitchen while he makes them dinner - is their unprofessional life, and here he can offer support to his partner in the illogical way she needs it.


	23. Twenty-Nine In a Day (3x22)

**Author's Note:** "She's Got Us" (3x22) another rare episode from S3 where I didn't feel like another scene was truly necessary, but I came up with this little scene after rewatching the moment where Jay says "There's such a thing as having too much empathy. You leave nothing for yourself." and tells Erin he wants her to sleep rather than care less. This addendum is set at the conclusion of the episode after the scene at Molly's.

* * *

The clatter of her cell phone against hard wood startles her awake; her whole body jerking at the sound and sending her left arm smacking against the padded armrest of the couch. It takes her a moment to awaken, to blink through the sleepy fog of her mind and realize where she was.

She hadn't bothered to turn on any lights in the apartment as it had still be light out when she arrived home after finishing up the paperwork to release Polly to her aunt and uncle, and it takes a moment for her eyes to adjust to the changes in conditions. To recognize the green trench coat draped over the armchair to her left; to register the buzz of the cell phone preceeding the knock at her front door.

Her limbs feel foreign - sleepy and legarthic thanks to the fading of the adrenaline that kept her upright through a shift on patrol, a stint waiting at the hospital for their witness, and a series of moments chasing down leads - as she pushes herself off the couch, and she doesn't bother to raise a hand to her mouth to cover the yawn that escaped as she pads over to the door. Her fingers fumble with the deadbolt; her brain barely registering the fact that she probably should have stopped to check peephole over the sound of the ringing cell phone.

And her eyes end up blinking rapidly when she manages to unlock the door and yank it open letting the light from the hallway outside her apartment floods in the entrance to hers. Centering and focusing when a shadow makes a step towards her and those instincts time in the academy and years on the force have fine tuned and honed.

"Hey," the voice from the shadowy figure greets, and her whole body relaxes at the sound. Another yawn escaping as she pushes the door open further, as she adjusts her stance so the light from the hallway illuminates her boyfriend's face rather than blinding hers. "Did I wake you?"

"Hmm," she murmurs with a sleepy sigh letting the tone of her voice, the inability to really focus, and the lethargic movements of her body be her answer. He had, in fact, awaken her, but she dismisses his apology with a shake of her head because she hadn't meant to fall asleep. Because she had her own apology to make - one that would explain why Jay was blowing up her phone and banging on her door.

"I'll go change," she mutters releasing her grip on the opened door and turning away from him. But a hand shoots out, a finger snags onto the back pocket of her jeans, and a soft voice sounds rather dubious about her plan as he informs her that she shouldn't bother unless she wants to make it in time for last call at Molly's.

"It's that late?" Erin questions glancing down at the watch on his wrist. It is far too dark for her to see the numbers, and she is far too sleepy to get her eyes to focus on the watch, even if it wasn't. But she registers the slow nod of his head, the crease across his brow, and the concern in his eyes, and she accepts that what Jay is telling her is true.

That she didn't just come home under the guise of chasing of her clothes - because the extra set she keeps in her locker at the district had been hand delivered by Jay to Med - and fallen asleep on the couch. Rather, she came home and passed out and completely blew off her plans to meet up with him at Molly's. To unwind after a particularly rough case with a beer; to, hopefully, hear about some good news about how Roman's medical hearing went and whether or not he and Burgess would be paired back up on patrol in a few weeks like Platt planned.

"Sorry," she replies twisting back around so she's facing him, so his grip on her back pocket falls, and she offers him a sleepy, half-smile as he tells her that it's okay. That he figured she probably went home and crashed.

"I'll let you get some sleep," Jay tells her taking a step backwards into the hallway and, this time, it is her hand that reaches out and her finger that snags on the gap puckering between two buttons on the front of his shirt.

"Stay," she says, and the gruffness of her sleepy voice proposes it as more of a statement rather than a question. A statement he answers by stepping towards her, by following her back into the foyer of her apartment so there is enough room for him to slam the door behind them. He stops to remove his boots - a movement she anticipates by releasing her hook on his shirt and padding over to where her cell phone sits next to her keys - but she only has a moment to blink wearily at the three missed calls and one text - all from him - before Jay's hands are on her waist. Before he's tugging the cell phone out of her hand and telling her to get some sleep.

She doesn't bother protesting, and she's too tired to make comments with suggestive smirks about him becoming so bossy all of the sudden. So, instead, she moves wordlessly through the living room and into the bedroom with Jay on her heels.

Lethargic fingers make quick work of her belt and shimming off her jeans while Jay sweeps pillows off the bed - words asking why she has so many muttered under his breath - and pulls back the sheets. And then they trade rolls; his deft fingers working on undoing the buttons of his shirt and the belt holding up his jeans while she crawls into bed and works on fluffing up the single pillow he's left her with. Barely manages to keep her eyes open and her head off the pillow long enough for him to slip under the sheets and lay down beside her in the bed.

Months of doing this, of sleeping beside one another night after night dictate the rest of their movements long after her eyes flutter close. Her body instinctively rolls into his - the little spoon to his big spoon - and his left arm curls around her waist as he helps pull her closer to him. Hot breathes curl around her ears as his breathing steadies, as her cheek buries into the pillow being propped up by his right arm and her eyes begin to flutter shut once more.

"Polly get off with her aunt and uncle okay?" The question is murmured into the crown of her head; the words lost into the mess of short, light brown hair brushing up against his face. And the tears that had threatened to spill over when she said goodbye to Polly return to the corner of her eyes as she manages to croak out a verbal agreement to his question, as silence fills the bedroom of her apartment once more.

"I," she whispers after a moment, after the desire to sleep has started to leave her body as reminders of what they saw this time yesterday begin to resurface. "I told her that she was one of those people who I didn't have to worry about. That no matter where she goes, everything is going to be okay."

The response to her statement comes with the slide of Jay's hand across her stomach so that his fingers rest of her leg instead of against the mattress, so that his fingers can rub small circles onto the exposed skin of her leg rather than dangling uselessly. And a soft kiss is pressed to the back of her head - the contact causing her eyes to flutter close once more - as Jay whispers assurances that he is sure that's true.

"It's no Wisconsin frozen custard," he says after a moment where a tear has slipped down her cheek, where she can feel his body tighten behind her as he tries to find the right comment to make her feel better. "But St. Louis' is pretty decent."

There were a lot of things about St. Louis that he found pretty decent - the zoo, the Arch - and it had been his comments about the city that she had fallen back on when Polly asked if she had ever been there. Because Jay had been there as a kid - more than a couple of times, apparently - and he had always talked about it as a nice place. Had made a couple of not so subtle hints that maybe they should take a weekend down there, if she wasn't up for dealing with mosquitos the size of birds up in Wisconsin.

"That fancy condo come with a frozen custard shop? Cause then you might learn what dry cleaners are," Erin questions softly, and her lips tip upward into a smile for the first time since he brought her that combo. A smile that is rewarded the stilling of his hand against her leg and an exasperated huff of air behind her head.

"You gotta focus on the view," he reminds her, and she hums noncommittally in reply because that is exactly what the builders of these new, tiny ass condos springing up across the city want him and every other potential buyer to do. To focus on the view instead of the lack of a bedroom or a toilet right next to the stove. To take out big loans in order to enjoy a view they'll - _he'll_ \- never to get see because they're - _he's_ \- too busy picking up overtime to pay off said loans.

The quiet filling the apartment is occasionally interrupted with the sound of a car rolling down the street outside her apartment, with the reminder that she may not have a view but she does have a neighborhood. The sounds of which dim at this time of night, and her eyes to grow heavy with sleep once more as Jay resumes tracing circles with his thumb on her bare leg.

"Did you see Roman?" She mumbles as she remembers part of why she was supposed to hit up Molly's with him. The words are heavy and staccatoed thanks to the lethargy, to the strain of twenty-nine hours done in a day settling in, and her question is met with a sleepy yawn and a chuckle in reply.

"Yeah, there's gonna be a sequel to that Roman-Burgess-Ruzek horror movie."

Jay's reply causes her to groan, to forget about sleep in favor of rolling over so her left shoulder is pressing into his chest and she is able to look at his face. To quirk an eyebrow in a silent instruction for him to elaborate and then prod him with the tap of her toe against his shin when she realizes he can't see her in the dark.

"Overheard him telling Burgess that he's being pushed out to some desk job," he informs her, and her shoulders immediately sag with disappointment at what he's saying because while she figured that was coming, that his recovery was taking longer than the Ivory Tower would be okay with, Roman is good police. Someone she wouldn't mind working Violence Reduction Duty with, if Jay'd rather spend the time taking a shower rather than raking in a dollar a minute. "He asked Burgess to move to San Diego with him. Said he loves her. Probably."

"He said that?" Erin asks; the incredulous tone of her voice squeezing out any sign of sleepiness. And Jay nods in reply, curls his finger around her hip when concern begins to twist her features and her limbs away from where she lays cuddling with him.

"You can call Burgess in the morning," Jay reminds her. The edge to his voice, the concern seeping in clues her into the look on his face currently being obscured by the darkness. Tells her that he's looking at her the exact same way he looked at her back at Med when he wanted her to get out of there, to get some sleep instead of waiting for Polly.

And this time she reaches up to brush her hand against the stubble on his cheek, tilts her head back so she can press a kiss to the underside of his jaw because she doesn't want him to worry. Doesn't want him to think she's willing to wreck herself - more than she already has today - or willing to blow him and his concern off - like maybe she did a bit this morning, like she did on accident this evening - after he worked hard to keep her on track, to keep her fed and supported and aware that she was caring and carrying too much.

"I will," she informs him before rolling back onto her side, before scooting backwards so his body can curl back around hers. And then she lets her eyes flutter close, buries her head into the pillow, and lets out a long yawn as his fingers resume their tracing movements on her skin. "But, right now, I'm gonna care less and sleep more."


	24. Those Left Behind (3x23)

**Author's Note:** I always hated that we never saw Jay comfort Erin in "Start Digging" (3x23) so this scene is set between Hank telling Erin to get everyone back to the District from Med and Hank interrupting Antonio telling the rest of the unit to let him know if they aren't comfortable working the case now that Justin is a victim. (In that particular scene, you can see Jay standing behind Erin and the two of them off to the side from the rest of the unit, which I guess was supposed to be the hint of him comforting her.) This is the penultimate chapter to this series. There will be one more to bridge the final scene of the season three finale and the start of "The Silos" (4x01).

* * *

The sound of the side door to the garage opening causes him to shift his gaze from the oil stain on the concrete floor to the grimace on Antonio's face. The grimace is difficult to read, and the small shake of Dawson's head when the two men make eye contact across the garage is even harder to decipher. To gauge whether or not Dawson is telling him that Justin is gone, that Erin and Voight are now two more people who have been left behind and must be faced.

The knot in his stomach from hearing her call number and the frantic request for an ambulance over the radio tightens at the realization that he'll never escape this. That for all Olinsky's suggestion that they start drawing straws on notifications, Jay will always be the one standing in front of the mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, wives and children left behind and trying to tell them that their sacrifice was worth it.

Except he doesn't know if that was the case here. This isn't a training accident on base or a fight against terrorism in Afghanistan or an effort to bring freedom and democracy - whatever that looked like after thirteen years of combat - to Iraq. This is a single mother and, now, a married serviceman with a baby caught up in something - a dealing with the cartel, a crossed path with the Russians - that ended with one stuffed in the trunk of her car with her throat slashed and the other being found by his father and the woman who is basically his sister in need an ambulance.

A married serviceman with a baby who Erin swore up and down was turning his life around, was finding the rhythm needed to be a good dad and a good father and a good Signal Corps officer. A married serviceman with a baby who was placing multiple phone calls to their female victim and, presumably, sneaking off to Chicago to see with Voight or Erin or his wife's knowledge.

His posture straightens as Antonio comes closer towards where he stands waiting near the door to the back staircase; his shoulders square as he silently waits for the older detective to fill him in. And he keeps that rigid posture as Dawson explains that he doesn't know much, that Voight had demanded Lindsay get them all back to the District before he could get more information from the doctors or nurses at Med.

"Atwater went to check on Justin's car. Make sure it's being towed to Twenty-One," Dawson informs him, and the statement clues him in on how this is going to played out. That his suspicion when Mouse brought him the phone records in a hushed whisper that the case will be handled by Intelligence rather than handed over to Area Homicide as the Ivory Tower's rule book still holds true.

"And Erin?" Jay questions because he hasn't heard from her since her voice cracked across the radio. Since Dawson had grabbed Atwater and announced the two of them would met Voight and Lindsay at the hospital, directed Halstead and Ruzek and Olinsky to sit tight and wait in case backup was needed. The instructions had ticked him off at the time, and the part of him still simmering over that is evident in the clipped tone of his voice.

But the answer to his question comes from the sound of the side door to the garage opening rather than from Dawson, and Jay careens his neck to the right at the audible intrusion to see her walking into the garage. Steps to the right in what ends up being a silent dismissal of Dawson so he can walk towards her, so he look into the face of a family member who was left behind.

And there is a moment where she refuses to make eye contact with him, where her posture remains rigid as though she is unaffected or trying to remain professional given the place and the audience. But his left hand reaches out to touch her shoulder, and the facade she's being trying to maintain gives way. Heavy, gasping sobs released as he pulls her into a tight hug, as he tries to keep his own posture firm and rooted in order to offer support while she crumbles.

"He was shot," she murmurs against his chest, and he wraps his arms around her even tighter as her voice cracks with another cry. The tears fall against his black t-shirt - the salty water causing the color the darken - as she presses her face into his chest, as her body gasps and shudders with another cry. "I just saw him last night for Daniel's-"

The reminder of why she pulled up at the crime scene with Voight last night, why she blew off drinks with the guys with a smirk and a comment about spending the night with her favorite guy causes her tears to flow harder and his posture to soften. His head dipping down, his lips skimming against the top of her head in a silent apology because this wasn't how things were supposed to go.

Because her biggest concern was supposed to be whether or not Daniel liked the present she bought him for his first birthday. A present she had picked out after three weeks of agonizing over the choices, of letting him drive so she could thumb through Amazon and Toys 'R Us on her phone trying to find something that was educational enough for Olive's granola views on parenting and fun enough for Justin's and age-appropriate enough for a child she couldn't believe was already one and sturdy enough for the destructive nature of a Voight.

That last caveat had come from him. Earned him a roll of the eyes along with muttered words about how he and Will had probably been just as destructive as Justin growing up followed by a jab to the spot between his vest and the waistband of his jeans when he clarified that he meant her and the messes she left behind in his bathroom. Earned him a scoff and a sassed reminder that maybe it was good thing the last place her showed didn't even have a bathroom.

"He was doing so good. Making Camille proud," she cries against his chest, and the hands gripping his forearms become fists. Pound against his chest with one, two jabs because her pain is twisting over into anger. "And-and-"

Her voice trails off, and her fist become open palms that are pressed against his biceps. That give him a squeeze and then push him away so she can step out of his embrace. And there is a moment where he resist her efforts, where her tries to keep his hands on her upper arms for comfort and support - for her, mostly - in case she's started to feel as though the hug has become oppressive, but his grip releases when it becomes clear she needs her space. Needs the opportunity to comfort herself the way she has all her life - alone with arms wrapped around her chest and tears stuck to the rim of her eyelids rather than rolling down her cheeks.

"What did the doctor say?" Jay questions when she's pulled herself apart from him to find the space to put herself back together because Dawson didn't have much to share. Because he's trying to comfort her without knowing all the facts, and there are enough questions - whos, whats, wheres, and whens - in this case already.

"I don't know," she says as her body shakes, as she gasps in air as though her lungs are getting enough oxygen. "They were speaking so fast, and Hank - he, he told me to come back here before Goodwin could ex-"

The crack in her voice as she informs him that Voight sent her away without answers, without a word from Goodwin on whether or not she found the murdered and dumped body of someone she loves again causes anger to surge within him. A surge that straightens his posture and distracts his attention away from her until her voice cracks again. Until she lifts her chin and lets him see the fresh round of tears gathering in her eyes as she says that she heard something about neuro and a CT.

"I'll give Will a call," Jay promises. He has no idea if Will is working today, if his brother has managed to make it two weeks as the ED's newest attending without Goodwin revoking some of his privileges. Again. But he'll get the information for her somehow. Offer her support however she needs it. Today. Tomorrow. A year from now. Twenty years from now.

A promise he tries to reiterate for her by taking a step towards her, by reaching out to grasp her hand in his and give it a squeeze. A promise that is interrupted by a throat being cleared behind them, by the way she pulls her hand from his when they turn to see Ruzek standing in the doorway leading to the back staircase.

"Uh," Ruzek stutters out lifting his gaze from where their hands had been clasped together for just a moment to look them both in the eyes. And his gaze reverts solely to look at Jay as he jerks his thumb backwards pointing over his shoulder, as he announces that Dawson wants to see everyone up in the bullpen.

Ruzek's announcement is answered with the nod of Erin's head, with the sound of her boots on the concrete floor moving to follow his retreating form back up the stairs to the bullpen. But the knot in Jay's stomach is still lose enough for him to turn quickly on his heel to catch her, to call out her name in the hopes that she'll turn in face him.

"Whatever you need, however you want to play this," he promises softly when she turns to face him, when his softened gaze connects with her tear-filled eyes, "you let me know."

And there is a long pause where she studies him, where he waits for her to take in what he is promising given how that they both know there are really only two directions this case can now go. What he is - or isn't - saying about the roles of interferer or collaborator that he is willing to take on despite his own moral compasses and codes of conduct. Yet the conversation is ended with words, without her telling him what she wants.

At least, not verbally because he can read the look in her eyes - the hope that they will find the guy responsible without crossing from the gray into the black - and that is the hope he also carries with him as he follows her up the stairs to the bullpen while tapping out a request for information about Justin's condition from Will. As he ignores the five sets of eyes that follow him and her as he perches himself behind her desk. As he bites his tongue while his tongue while Antonio instructs them all to say something if they aren't ready to cross a line.


	25. Coming and Going (3x23-4x01)

**Author's Note:** This chapter is set directly before the first scene with Erin and Jay in bed in "The Silos" (4x01), and it is an attempt to bridge the gap between the two seasons. I thought Erin's headspace about Hank going into the fourth season was pretty clear, and I was intrigued by the way she was and wasn't leaning on Jay (i.e. inviting him over to her place to sleep, presumably telling him that she was meeting with Crowley given their "How'd it go?" conversation yet keeping him handcuffed on how to help her). So I decided to explore how much Jay might have known about where Erin went after she hung up on him, how he felt about the traps being sprung for her and Voight by Crowley, and how might have come to decide that moving in together was the best solution for what she was going through.

Before the chapter begins, though, I wanted to offer a huge thank you to those of you who stuck with this story after I took a year long hiatus from writing it and those who picked it up in the last few months . I'd love to hear any final feedback on this story that you may have.

* * *

The relentless rain beats against the windshield; a torrential downpour rather than a pitter patter that has turned the streets into riverways and cleared the sidewalks around the city as people seek refuge inside their homes. Occasionally, a lone individual with the lapels of their trench coat pulled up to their ears or a couple huddled under a shared umbrella hurry past his parked car, past the Mom and Pop stores flipping over to chain coffee shops and clothing retailers thanks to the shiny, new high-rise forming above.

But, for the most part, the sidewalk remains deserted, and he only has to give each person a passing glance to ascertain if they're waiting for him or not. Waiting to show off the high-rise building looming over the street, to talk square footage and amenities with him.

The spec sheet the realtor sent over two nights ago is pulled up on his phone, and he glances down at it. Lets his eyes skim over words about how the place has two bedrooms and underground parking and access to a gym as he tries to figure out what she would say about the place. If she would be willing to overlook the lack of "real" Chicago character for a place where she doesn't have to shovel out her car in the morning or wake up early to get across town to Antonio's.

Yet the early hours haven't seem to affect her over the last few days. He's awoken twice now to the feeling of her slipping out of his bed and once to the sound of the front door of her apartment clicking shut behind her. Spent three nights wondering how she is and what she's up to until the wee hours of the morning when she didn't answer her phone, and two other nights when she did answer her phone, when she showed up at his place or told him to come over feeling like she'd rather he go.

Feeling like she'd rather he leave her alone as he reclines on her couch beside her nursing a beer and not talking about Justin. As he sits across the bullpen from her and doesn't acknowledge that the photographs and notes pulled from the unit's whiteboard and handed over to Commander Crowley are just a bunch of dead ends now. As he slips under the sheets beside her and doesn't ask about the ball of wet clothes left in the corner of her bedroom.

At least, this place - with its gentrifying neighborhood and ubiquitous appearance - has a washer and dryer in a unit. Offers him the chance to lander those clothes, to remove the reminders of where she went when he told her that Voight wasn't at the house with him or the rest of the unit without it becoming obvious what he's doing. Without implicating what he knows - or, at least, thinks he knows - about the hour and a half gap between his phone call to her and the 300 arriving back in the District's parking lot by doing a load of laundry at her place instead of his own.

By completing a silent yet physical omission that he thinks there is something to that pile beyond those being the clothes she was wearing when she and Voight found Justin. That the evidence Crowley is going to be looking for when the team she has assigned to Justin's case finds only dead ends in the folders and evidence boxes he and Dawson handed over is actually laying in the corner of Erin's bedroom.

The thought causes him to sigh, causes the knot in his stomach that has been there since he heard her voice over the radio calling out for an ambulance to tighten because this played out in both a way he expected - with Voight possibly getting a moment alone with their main suspect - and a way he didn't with her possibly getting snagged up while the rest of the team was offered plausible deniability.

Possibly because he doesn't know. Only has theories and suspicious and three years of knowing what Voight meants to her. That Voight, in Erin's eyes, is the reason why she's here today. Why he has gotten to know her rather than her becoming an unknown face in a file cabinet of unsolved homicides and overdoses.

But Jay also knows that he - with his decision to drive rather than ride shotgun beside her, with his phone call to her rather than directly to Voight - helped the hunt for who killed Justin Voight play out in a way that might have ensnared her. And he can't stand the idea of of the traps that are bound to set for Voight pulling her down another hole, of watching her come and go out of his apartment and his life - inside and outside of work - because of what he did and what he hasn't managed to do since.

And, so, he is here on a rainy Tuesday night waiting to check out an apartment that he hopes she'll like, that she'll maybe want to spend more than a few hours at with him. That will maybe feel like home, like a place that can keep her grounded through the loss of the guy who was like her brother and the home that Voight offered her.

Except he's pretty sure she's not going to like this place. Can already hear her incredulous voice about how he'll need to pick up multiple Violence Reduction shifts and pull in extra overtime in order to afford a small latte at the residents-only coffee lounge the spec sheet boosts about. Can already hear her knowing hum and see her suggestive smirk in response to him saying that he'd only drink the stuff in the breakroom, if it meant getting a place with one of those waterfall showerheads and a jetted tub.

He thought the place he emailed her about this morning - the condo located on the second floor of a brownstone - would catch her eye. Would, at least, warrant a text back or an acknowledgement as she came and went out of the District today while the rest of the team pushed paper and kept their mouths shut and their eyes averted from the elephant in the room. But she hadn't said anything, and he hadn't been able to find a moment in the breakroom after awakening to an empty bed for the second night in a row to ask her about it. To tell her about his appointment to see this place tonight.

So the headlights shining into his rear windshield from the car pulling up behind him aren't from her sedan, and the woman with the light brown hair who steps out of the vehicle and hurries over to stand under the flat, metal awning over the entrance of the high-rise condominium isn't her. And Jay takes a moment to squint through the heavy rainfall to watch her, to double check her identity before pushing open the driver's side door of his car. Slips his cell phone and his keys into the front pockets of his jeans as he hurries through the rain to meet her.

"Mr. Halstead?" The woman calls out as he comes towards her, as she thrusts her hand out for him to shake. And he grasps it with a nod of his head as she introduces herself as Sarah Murphy, the realtor working with the developer of this site.

"Will it just be you tonight?" Sarah inquires, although the unspoken addition to her question is evident in the way she glances at his left hand. And the question causes him to pause for a moment because somehow his search for a place to call his own, to put down roots had become a search done with her - her opinion, her presence - in mind, but she had gone from the District this evening and hadn't come with him. Hadn't returned his text inquiring what she was up to or if she wanted to grab dinner; hadn't really talked to him since the night she showed up at his place after shrugging off his attention and being noncommittal about whether or not he'd see her later that night at Justin's funeral.

"Yeah, uh, my girlfriend couldn't make it," he says telling himself that it's not entirely a lie. That if this was a normal week, she would have been here to offer her opinions on what is too intimate and too ridiculous for a place that he'll call home for, at least, the lifespan of his mortgage.

"Oh, that's too bad," Sarah counters glancing up at the sky and the steady rain before returning her gaze back to him. "I'd be happy set up another time for her to come see it. Perhaps when the weather is better so she can really see the view."

"Yeah," Jay replies soft because maybe the weather will get better. Maybe the dark cloud hanging over her life will dissipate and he'll figured out how to help her get through this beyond trying to distract her with real estate listings and showing up when and where she wants him to. But, right now, the storm is still raging, and he has no idea where she's at.

So, instead, he stands alone outside of a high-rise apartment building listening to the realtor tell him about the security system installed throughout the building as she fishes out a badge from her purse. About how residents can get in twenty-four/seven with a plastic badge and visitors can be let in by the front desk when it's staffed from nine to five.

And Jay keeps his mouth shut about how he's seen the system she's bragging about in more than one burglary-homicide during his years on the force. Tries not to give away how much more he likes the fresh paint and clean lines of this place over the linoleum and rusty mailboxes in the entryway of his apartment building as he follows her through the lobby to the elevator.

"So the unit we'll be seeing has two bedrooms," the realtor reminds him as they step into the elevator and she pushes the button for the eleventh floor. The doors shut behind them without the horrific clanking noise that comes from the elevator at his place on the rare occasion that it's actually working, and Jay jams his hands in the pockets of his black coat as Sarah points to the button for the fourth floor explaining that they'll stop and check out the gym and club lounge after seeing the unit.

"Gym access is included, right?" Jay questions, and the realtor launches into a list of what is and isn't included in the purchase price and the condo's co-op fees - unlimited gym access for homeowners is included while more than two coffees a month at the club and day passes for guests aren't - as the elevator inches closer and closer to the eleventh floor.

"Uh, washer and dryer in unit," Sarah informs him when they reach the eleventh floor, when she fumbles with the keys to unlock the front door of unit number eleven-oh-four. And she steps aside when she finally unlocks the door, gestures for him to step into the apartment first, offers him the first look at the hardwood floors running from the front door through the open-concept living room and kitchen to the wall of windows on the other side. The wall of windows that look a lot like the ones at Erin's.

And that realization causes him the smile because maybe he can turn these windows and their view of a stormy sky instead of the brick wall of the apartment across the street into a selling point for her. Can maybe finally end her complaints that his current place with its small windows and close proximity to another building is like living inside a tomb.

"All appliances are included," Sarah announces dragging his attention away from the wall of windows towards the kitchen with its gleaming white cabinets, granite countertops, and stainless steel appliances. It is about three times the size of his current kitchen - bigger than Erin's, too - and he can't help but imagine how much easier it would be to cook them dinner now and then without having to step around her. Can't help but feel a little crestfallen at her not touching him - eyes sparkling and mouth smirking in such a way that they give her feigned innocence - under the excuse of cramped spaces.

And he turns on his heels to look at the rest of the space; his eyes settling on the large, blank walls running the length of the room. There's no fireplace, but there's plenty of room for a sixty-inch plasma TV mounted to the wall and storage space in the second bedroom for all the blankets she has insisted on needing at his current, fireplace-less apartment.

"Unit comes with one spot in the underground parking garage," Sarah informs him, and he pauses for a second as he moves towards the hallway leading off from the right of the kitchen. As he realizes that someone will still end up circling the block looking for parking and digging their car out when the city turns into Chiberia, that those loops around the block and attempts to dislodge the car from a snowbank will be the only times he gets to drive.

"But," the realtor jumps in when she catches the look on his face, "a second one can be allocated to the unit with a little negot-"

The caveat is interrupted by the crash of thunder and lighting outside, by the trilling sound of Jay's phone ringing in his pocket. A sound that causes the knot in his stomach to tighten and then sends his hand scrambling into the pocket of his jeans. A sound that causes him to throw the realtor an apologetic look and then furrow his brows as he sees her name written across the screen.

"Hey," he greets after clicking the green button on screen and raising the phone to his ear. Jay's voice sounds rough, panicked. Nothing like the flat, monotone voice that greets him on the other end of the line. But there's an edge to it - an edge he hasn't been able to figure out, an edge he hasn't been able to decide if he wants to fall over - as she asks if he can come over to her place.

And he doesn't hesitate to say that he'll be right over. Offers an apology to Sarah about needing to go and barely notices the way she panics over losing out on a commission as he leads them both to the elevator. Barely absorbs her sputtered words about how he hasn't checked out the bedrooms or the bathroom or the resident's club on the fourth floor as they ride down to ground level in the elevator. Barely notices the rain falling overhead as he promises to be in touch about the place and jobs over to his car.

The high-rise is further from her place than his current apartment, and he arrives outfront to find dark windows and not a single light on in her apartment. At least, none visible from the street. But the phone his tossed on his passenger seat is lit up with a text informing him that she left the front door unlocked for him, and he climbs three flights of stairs to find that to be true. Pokes his head into the darkened apartment and calls out her name because only idiots sneak into apartments and homes owned by cops.

"In the bedroom," she calls out in a gravelly voice from the bedroom and only then - with the sound of her voice, with the reminder that she really wants him her - does the knot in his stomach loosen and his shoulders relax. He takes just a moment to slip off his coat and boots, to add the coat to the hooks by the door and straighten the jumbled mess of shoes by the door, to lock the door behind him.

Only then does he pad through the dark apartment to her bedroom, round around the corner to find her laying in bed with the covers pulled up and her back towards him. And as his eyes adjust to the low-light conditions, his gaze drifts from her to the corner of her bedroom, to the spot where her wet clothes from that night lay.

Laid, it turns out. Because, now, the pile is gone. The last remnant of it - her green trench coat - is wrapped in the plastic the dry cleaner sent it home in and draped over the chair to his left. The sight causes him to pause long enough that Erin seems to notice, that she rolls over on her back and stares at him with eyes that seem to both challenge him to ask and beg him not to.

And another long pause follows as he tries to decide what to say or what to do, but the decision is made for him by her reaching out to pull back the covers, by her silently asking him to lay down beside her. A request he answers by yanking his damp t-shirt over his head and dropping it onto the floor where her wet clothes used to sit, by fumbling with his belt and sliding his jeans and his socks off so he slips into bed beside her with nothing by a pair of boxers on.

And unlike the last few days when she's come and gone, when she's pulled away from him, she rolls into his grasp, curls her body up against his, and places her head in the crook between his arm and his torso. Lets one - no, two - hot tears fall down her cheeks and onto his chest as his arm wraps around her, as his thumb traces patterns on the soft bit of skin peeking out from between the hem of her off-white t-shirt.

"Crowley wants to see me tomorrow," she informs him, and the confession causes his hand to still because he knows what that means. Knows that the cloud of suspicion hanging over their unit right now is narrowing over her, that someone outside the unit has finally noticed the gap in her and Voight and the rest of the unit's timelines and whereabouts.

"Erin," he starts, but she cuts him off. Handcuffs him and all his possible reactions by pressing her face further into the crook between his arm and his torso and telling him that she doesn't want to talk about it. That she just wants to lay her with her boyfriend.

And he agrees because she asked him to come here, because her arm is tightening around his chest as though she needs an anchor right now and he wants to be that for her. Wants to help keep her head above water as she tries to work through her loss and keep her and her career on solid footing as the Ivory Tower starts picking up on rumors and hearsay and unspoken understandings of what happens when a cop's son is killed.

When Hank Voight's son is killed.

Somewhere in the middle of the night, she'll pull away from him. She'll end up on her side of the bed and he'll end up on his. Close enough physically that she'll smack him with the back of her hand when her nightmare wakes him up; far enough mentally and emotionally that she'll brush off his concern and run out the door. But, right now, she's not coming and going, and twelve hours of stability, of laying in bed beside her as her boyfriend has to be good enough.

For now.


End file.
